


He Used to Be Mine

by betheflame



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Broadway References, Brock Rumlow is an Abusive Jagweed, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheflame/pseuds/betheflame
Summary: He remembered what happy felt like, James Barnes did. He remembered how it would bubble in your soul, like sunshine came from inside of your skin. He remembered knowing even then that it was too good to last.As he slid his Last Chance Black Cherry Pie into the oven, he glanced quickly at the calendar. It had been ten years since he remembered that magic. Ten years of living off the generosity of others, living in his body that didn’t work right, with a soul that felt scratchy. A decade that had begun with such promises delivered by a silver-tongued man who had promised to put him back together after years wandering in the desert…&&&&&Steve and Bucky were it for each other, until life happened. Now, nearly 20 years later, they meet again. Bucky's boyfriend is an abusive jagweed, however, so Steve has some work to do.Love, however, might be complicated, but it always wins.&&&&&If you've seenWaitress, this is an AU of it. If you haven't, doesn't matter, I promise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the Waitress AU I've been threatening about on Twitter for weeks now, and it's changed ships three times. After wrestling with it, Bucky and Steve convinced me this is _their_ story and who am I to deny the boys their due? 
> 
> Preemptive CW for mentions of intimate partner violence and its fall out - Brock, as the tag says, is an abusive asshat.
> 
> Also my first Stucky, and I'm excited to muck around with this ship.

_It’s not simple to say, but most days I don’t recognize me_  
_That these shoes and this apron, that place and its patrons_  
_Have taken more than I gave them_

He remembered what happy felt like, James Barnes did. He remembered how it would bubble in your soul, like sunshine came from inside of your skin. He remembered knowing even then that it was too good to last. 

As he slid his Last Chance Black Cherry Pie into the oven, he glanced quickly at the calendar. It had been ten years since he remembered that magic. Ten years of living off the generosity of others, living in his body that didn’t work right, with a soul that felt scratchy. A decade that had begun with such promises delivered by a silver-tongued man who had promised to put him back together after years wandering in the desert… 

He shook his head to shake those ideas away. None of that mattered today. Today was the day that Audrey got her exam results back. The pie was for her and the name was because black cherries were her favorite and also because he was a bit of a dick when he wanted to be. 

“Jamie!” Maggie’s voice drifted in as the front door bell went off. “Did you start the coffee?”

He rolled his eyes. Eight years at Pie & Lattes, six as head baker, and Maggie still asked that question _every morning_. “Yes, Mags. The croissants are ready for you to put in the basket, the orange cranberry muffins are settling, I’m working on the lemon loaf and the cherry scones. It will all be ready in the twenty-seven minutes between now and when we open, you anal retentive pastry drill sergeant.”

He knew she was flipping him off as she made her way through the small café, preparing for the day. She turned on the radio and he heard Florence + The Machine start up, a band he would always associate with his colleague since they were her ‘good morning’ music. He called it her walk-on music once and she blinked so hard at him that he called her un-American. 

_“Walk-on music,” he repeated. “The music that plays when baseball players walk up to the plate?”_

_“Oh, yeah, I’ve never been to a baseball game.”_

_“You’ve never, no, fuck off, dollface, not even a Little League game or something?”_

_She shrugged. “I never saw the point.”_

_“The point,” he was incredulous. “Do you see the point of apple pie? Do you see the point of automatically believing anyone with a Russian accent in a movie is evil? These are fundamentally American things, Mags.”_

_“I’ll tell you what,” she said with a smirk. “I’ll go to a damn Yankees game with you if you’ll tell me why and how you have one human arm and one bionic one.”_

_“I mean, America is also fundamentally about freedom, so it’s your prerogative.”_

_“That’s what I thought.”_

The rest of the opening shift ambled in after that. There was Stephanie, the socially awkward waitress who had trouble making eye contact but would give you the shirt off her back if you were cold, and Audrey, the barista who was studying to be a veterinarian so that she could move further upstate and work with horses. Around 10, his replacement would be in, he’d be relieved of duty, and after a quick nap, he’d head off to his second job as the assistant chef - and sometimes head one if Charlie was on National Guard duty - at the Ballygowan Inn.

James was a bit famous in the small town of Ballygowan, Pennsylvania. Not _too_ famous (he hated the spotlight), but most people knew that if you wanted the best pies on the planet, you went to the café and got one of James’, and that his breads and desserts at the Inn were a few of the reasons why the restaurant was packed most nights. 

His boyfriend, Brock, was thrilled with James’ notoriety. Better known as six-term mayor Brock Rumlow, James’ boyfriend was publicly besotted with his fella and most people knew the story of how they had met when James was a cook at the local VA hospital when Brock had gone in on a press tour and how it was love at first sight. 

Maggie, Stephanie, and Audrey? They had a collective feeling that James was a bit of a secret keeper. A few _too_ many bruises, a few _too_ many cracked ribs for someone who didn't moonlight as a vigilante, a few _too_ many smiles that didn’t reach James’ eyes. Then there was the time that Pepper Potts from Stark Industries had offered James a prosthetic arm in exchange for his Perfectly Peachy Deep Dish Delight and he’d turned it down. He told them it was because he didn’t need it, but Steph had overheard him on the phone promising Brock _he wouldn’t take the arm and that he knew he wasn’t that important_. 

So the three girls kept an eye on the man they collectively thought of as “their boy” and threw skeptical glances at their mayor, whom none of them had voted for after they met James. 

“Audrey,” James called around 8:30 when there was a momentary lull in the customers. “When did you say the email was coming in?”

She popped her head back into the kitchen. “I’m supposed to have it by 9am. If I don’t, I’m supposed to call the state boards office and let them know.”

He nodded and readjusted his long hair into a bun and went to wash his hands. “Well,” he drew the pie out of the warmer, “that gives you time to have a quick slice.”

Her eyes widened. “You made me a pie.”

“Last Chance Black Cherry,” he smirked. She smacked his arm as she accepted the gift. 

“It’s not my last chance, you jerkwad,” she smiled. 

“Yeah, but I Totally Believe in You Black Cherry didn’t have the same flair,” he smiled warmly. “When it goes up as the daily special, it’ll be Dr. Audrey’s Black Cherry Supreme.”

She blinked back a few tears. “What if I don’t pass?”

He shrugged and put his hand on her shoulder. “Then you try again until it’s true. You’re the smartest gal I know, Audrey, of course you’ll get this.”

“You’re too much, James Barnes,” she wiped her eyes and gave him a tight but brief hug. He ducked his head and waved off her compliment, as he did with any nice thing that anyone said about him. 

Just then, Maggie scampered into the kitchen with wild eyes and hands moving at a million miles an hour. “Guys, guys, guys, guys,” she said quickly. “ _Tony Stark_ just came in. There’s other people with him and they all want pie. James, they want your pie.”

“Did you tell them it doesn’t go up until 9am?” He replied. 

“Did I tell _Tony fucking Stark_ that I couldn’t get him pie? No, you shitstain, of course I didn’t, because I know for a fact that you have some finished,” she hissed. 

“I don’t care if it’s the goddamn Dalai Lama, our pies go out front at 9am and he can wait his damn turn.”

The two women gaped at him and he rolled his eyes. “I’ll go fucking tell him.”

He made quick work of the way up to the front counter to be frozen in his steps. 

_There’s no way. There is literally no way._

James blinked a few times because his eyes had to be lying. The man he had been in love with since he was 12 years old could not be causally standing in a town of 1400 people in central Pennsylvania in the café where he made pies. 

No fucking way. 

Until said man opened his mouth and said, “Bucky? Is that you?”

It was a gut punch, and James swallowed hard. “Hi Stevie, how ya been?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Pepper, where the _living fuck_ did you get this pie?” Tony Stark said between bites. 

“I told you,” his wife Pepper said patiently as she fed their infant daughter. “The first time I went to Miller’s for the due diligence meeting, I got lost because there wasn’t enough signal for the GPS and then you went into a whole thing about satellite tech, Morgan, sweetie, open wider, there, and I wandered into Ballygowan –“

“That’s an Irish name,” their PA, au pair, right hand man, Steve Rogers replied. 

“Your diaspora is large, cupcake,” Tony replied with a mouth full of pie. 

Ignoring the two men, per usual, Pepper continued, “I was dying for a cup of coffee and I saw this adorable little place called Pie & Lattes and I went in and they had this peach pie that changed my life. So I added a clause into Sam’s contract at Miller to air freight me the pie of the day every time it had peaches or apples in it.”

“Oh wait,” Tony snapped his fingers a few times, “is this the guy you tried to give a free arm to and he turned it down?”

Steve looked concerned. “A free arm?”

“James, the guy’s name is, he lost his arm in Iraq and his prosthetic is good, but it’s not ours so I offered him a free Stark arm to give Pierre the recipe for his peach pie,” Pepper replied, switching Morgan to her other breast and briefly massaging the now empty one. 

“And as I have never had said pie, I’m assuming he turned it down out of some misplaced sense of nobility?” Tony replied. 

Pepper shrugged slightly. “He told me the pie was proprietary to his brain, thanked me for my offer, and told me to come by for pie whenever I was in town.”

Tony checked his watch and then called, “Jarvis? What’s our tomorrow?”

“Tony,” Steve said in a warning tone. “Whatever you are thinking, stop.”

“Oh, sweet cheeks, that ship sailed in the womb,” Tony winked. 

“Sir, you are booked all day,” Jarvis replied patiently. 

“Steve, what can I move?”

“Are we flying to Pennsylvania to get pie?”

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Tony smirked. “Of course we are flying to Pennsylvania to get pie, but we’re going to tell everyone it’s a surprise inspection at the Miller plant and you are going to find the nicest restaurant near the pie place and book it out for the night so we can take all the boss people and I can sneak out early and find the pie guy and try to hire him to bake us all pies for the rest of our lives.”

“He already said no,” Pepper replied as Morgan finished her dinner. 

“He said no to an arm, Pep,” Tony corrected. “That was the opening negotiation!”

Pepper stole a glance to Steve, who was smirking gleefully. “I know.”

Tony looked at them suspiciously as Steve went to Pepper’s purse and pulled out her wallet. “She knows what.”

“That she owes me $10,” Steve said. 

Tony narrowed his eyes. “You are both fired.”

“Oh, you poor put upon billionaire, furious that your people know you so well,” Pepper replied rolling her eyes. “I thought we’d just fly for pie, Steve thought you’d give the kid a job.”

Steve brandished his phone. “I already have a personal trainer booked for you due to the possible influx of pie.”

Tony huffed, but it didn’t contain any malice. The trio had been doing life together for nearly 15 years, ever since Steve had won a Stark Industries scholarship to the Panthéon Sorbonne to study visual art when he was 18. Pepper, as his official liaison, had accompanied him to Paris to get him settled and quickly realized that not only could Steve use a friend, but Tony could use a Steve. 

_“He’s getting over what sounds like a really terrible break-up, Tony,” Pepper explained. “His French is atrocious, he’s never been outside of New York before and I’m just… You hate Cambridge, and it’s not like the Sorbonne is a joke. Why don’t you do your next masters there?”_

After graduating from MIT at 16, Tony spent the following years doing various masters degrees at various universities around the world. That served several purposes; it helped him with various languages, it kept him from being too physically close to his father, it kept his mind active, and it allowed him to continue his partying/geniusing lifestyle to which he had become accustomed. 

Pepper had entered his life during his years in Japan, after a particularly terrible round of paparazzi pictures had forced the SI board to assign Tony a handler. Maria Stark had conducted the interviews and shocked everyone when she chose a young woman only 2 years Tony’s senior, but it was quickly agreed that Pepper Potts was the best thing that had ever happened to Tony Stark. 

And so, following Pepper’s wisdom, 24-year-old Tony had enrolled in a Masters of International Economics at the famed Sorbonne, or Paris-1 as it was called, and bought a flat near the one being provided for Steve. Pepper and Steve became immediate friends, while Tony and Steve became immediate frenemies, bickering and snarking at each other at every turn. 

And just as Pepper had predicted, it had been perfect. After Steve graduated, Tony offered for SI to be his art patron as long as Steve would continue to help Pepper manage Tony. From there, Steve’s job had evolved, but his love for his friends had only strengthened. They were, to put it simply, his family. He had no one back in Brooklyn, Bucky had made that clear when Steve boarded the flight for Paris, so he threw himself into being a surrogate Stark. 

In the intervening decade, he’d been – very briefly and during a weird season in all their lives after Tony's parents died – Tony’s boyfriend, Pepper’s art buddy, Stark Industries’ Artist-in-Residence, Morgan’s babysitter, and Pepper’s personal assistant once she became SI CEO, but honestly, he’d just always been Steve. 

And honestly, flying for pie was one of the least strange things he had done that week much less ever.

“Well, this little lady might actually be ready for bed,” Pepper said as she checked her watch and kissed Morgan’s head. “Tony, are you going to the workshop or coming to read to her?”

“I’ll take her the first time she wakes up, Jarvis get me when she fusses,” Tony replied. He kissed his wife, then his daughter, winked at Steve and wandered out the door to his workshop across the driveway from the lake cabin where they were all currently staying. 

“I’ll take care of all the details,” Steve waved to Pep. “Go be Mom.”

She flashed him a grateful smile and Steve set to work. He emailed the President and VPs at Miller to let them know Tony wanted to take them to dinner the next night, making no mention of an inspection which may be a cover story but could possibly also happen depending on the mood. 

After some brief Googling, it appeared the best place to host a dinner was the Ballygowan Inn, so he called the GM there and reserved it for the following night, offering to pay for a free meal for anyone who already had reservations as an apology. The social media for Pie & Lattes said that no one but Jamie the Baker knew what the flavor would be and it was never revealed before 9am on the day. As a fellow structure-oriented person, Steve could respect that. 

After discovering that the wee town was only a three hour drive, and knowing that Morgan slept in the car like a damn champ, they’d decided to drive and pulled out of the driveway around 5am to make sure they were there in time for the daily pie reveal. Tony drove, per usual, Pepper napped in the back with Morgan, and Steve answered emails and watched the scenery. 

Pie & Lattes was pretty empty when they got there, and despite being warned by both Pepper and Steve multiple times, Tony asked for the Pie of the Day when they walked through the door at 8:45. The harried looking cashier said she’d check with the baker and dashed through an entryway. 

“Tony,” Pepper hissed. “It is _fifteen minutes_ , you can behave like a human being for fifteen minutes.”

“I just asked an innocent question,” Tony replied, hefting his daughter out of the stroller and wandering over to the display case of pastries and letting her point at the glass. 

_“I’ll tell him myself,”_ Steve heard from the back room, in a voice that tugged something in his core. 

A man burst through the door like he was on a mission and Steve’s world froze. The hair was different, sure, and 18-year-old Bucky hadn’t been able to grow a mustache, much less the beard that this version was sporting, and the matter of the arm, but Steven Grant Rogers would know James Buchannan Barnes _anywhere, anytime, anyplace_. 

“Bucky? Is that you?”

The other man looked as shell shocked as Steve felt, but managed a small smile. “Hi Stevie, how ya been?”


	3. Chapter 3

James took in the sight before him. The scrawny boy he had fallen for had stretched into what the old movies would call a talk drink of water. Definitely six foot, and some of the scrawny had turned into a solid frame clad into a three-piece suit that had James swallowing tightly and wishing he could adjust his trousers. 

There was a hint of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his right arm and the scruff dusting his jaw had a darker blonde shade than James would have anticipated, but the eyes… Steve’s eyes were the same. 

“Stevie?” The man holding the baby over by the bakery case – James’ brain stuttered for a minute that Maggie wasn’t lying, it really was Tony Stark – said in a voice that edged on teasing but landed on incredulous. 

James was too busy having his own existential crisis to see that Steve was having his own, but he could hear it in the response. _Tony Stark uses my nickname for him._

“Tony, Pepper, this is my best friend from Brooklyn, the one I told you about? Bucky Barnes, this is Pepper and Tony Stark.”

“It’s just James now,” James replied. “I don’t, you are… just James.”

If James had to put a word on the look that passed over Steve’s face at that, it would have been wounded. “Right, sorry, James Barnes –“

Pepper stepped forward to ease the awkwardness. “Hi James, I’m Pepper, we’ve met before.”

“Oh, right,” James blinked a few times. “Where are my manners? It’s good to see you again Mrs. Stark. You’ll like the pie today, I think.”

“Oh, peaches?”

“Cherries, black cherries. I know you like apples and peaches the best, but I sent you a black cherry one once with whipped chocolate crème and a chili finish and your one over at Miller said you liked it.”

“Jesus,” Tony chocked from the other side of the room. “I need that pie. Why did I not get that pie? I’m Tony, by the way, and I need that pie.”

“And this is my husband Tony, and our daughter Morgan, and I’d apologize for Tony, but he’ll just be an impatient child again in a few minutes,” Pepper rolled her eyes. “And yes, I do like cherries, I’m surprised you remembered that.”

“Well,” James laughed. “You are my only customer who gets my pies flown in from out of state, so you’re fairly memorable. And Mr. Stark, if you’ll give me about -” he checked his watch “-three hours? I can get you that pie.”

“If you’re going to be providing me with continual gastronomic orgasms, I think we can go with Tony,” Tony grinned. “Three hours. I think that gives us time to scare the living shit out of our supplier, don’t you, Pep?”

“I’ll stay here,” Steve said suddenly, and James thought he heard Steve’s voice crack a bit. “If you don’t need me.”

Tony was about to open his mouth – to protest, James assumed – when Pepper shot Steve a look that can only be described as “knowing” and replied that it was perfectly fine. Steve nodded tightly and looked at James. “Is that okay with you?”

James cocked an eyebrow, “Free country, Stevie.” _God, why did I do that? Am I in some sort of pissing contest with Tony Stark over my ex-boyfriend? God I’m an idiot._

Steve blushed all the way to the tips of his ears, _good to know that hadn’t changed_ , and nodded. “Do you want me to keep Morgan here?” This was addressed to Pepper, who thought for a moment and agreed. 

“She’ll nap in the carrier for most of it, anyway,” and pretty soon, Steve was ensconced in a corner booth, rocking a baby carrier with one hand and sketching with the other. Maggie had gotten him a coffee and a scone and James had escaped to the back to try to avoid freaking the fuck out and forgetting entirely what was happening in the guest area. 

His staff, of course, had other ideas. 

“Bucky?” Audrey smirked at him. “Bucky.”

“Don’t you have an email to check?”

“I did while you were gawking over Tall, Blonde, and Stunning out there. I passed.”

James blinked at her a few times. “You passed your boards.”

She smiled. “And we will celebrate like you promised with a giant piece of my pie, but first, explain.”

“Yeah,” Stephanie replied as she walked towards them. “Start with that dumbass nickname and then continue on to how you’ve been baking pies for Pepper Potts and make sure to wrap up with the ovary destroyer out there.”

“The what now?” Even though he knew exactly what she was talking about. He knew, he just _knew_ , that if he even so much as glanced at Steve holding that child, he would crumble into fourteen thousand pieces. Brock wouldn’t let them adopt. 

“Steve, right? That’s his name? Who you clearly know and so we’ll need all of the tea, immediately, thank you.”

James rolled his eyes. “I am positive there are other customers in this place besides the man and the kid, so if you could all kindly do your jobs, I just promised an eccentric billionaire a pie I can only kind of remember how to make.”

Audrey rolled her eyes. “Fine, but once they’re gone. During the 1pm slump, since you’re clearly staying to finish the pie.”

James knew when he was cornered. “Fine. The slump. There’s not much to tell, though, so don’t get your hopes up.”

All three women looked like they believed him about as much as they believed in the Loch Ness Monster, or that the city would fix the pothole on 8th and Main that had been there since God was a boy. Blissfully, however, they all got back to work. 

Nearly three hours passed – three hours punctuated by James hearing Steve’s voice drift back to the kitchen enough times that his gut twisted into a solid clench – and the pie was rested enough to slip into a box to send home with the Starks. 

At 10, his assistant pastry chef Susan had showed up, full of the buzz around town that Tony Stark had shown up with his wife, child, and that “artist guy who works for him”, which went some way to explaining Steve’s presence.

James had intentionally not gone out into the public area, but the girls were more than happy to provide a running commentary on Steve’s coffee order or Morgan’s adorableness or Steve’s quick sketches of each of them that they wanted to get framed or or or… 

He’d been extra careful to send Brock the normal every-ninety-minute check-in texts, afraid that Steve’s sudden presence would throw things off schedule and the last thing James needed was for Brock to show up unannounced in the middle of his adolescent nightmare. Surely that discipline would allow the universe to cut him a break on this one day. Surely.

“Jamie,” Stephanie hissed, breaking his reverie. “They’re back. Pie?”

James took a deep breath and took off his apron, washed his hands quickly and headed out into the main area, where the Starks were, indeed, back and settled into Steve’s booth. Frustratingly to James’ focus, however, they had just ordered fresh coffees and some more of James’ baked goods. Leaving quickly didn’t seem to be on their agenda. 

“Here you go, Tony,” James offered the box. “We call it Sugar and Spice and Nothing Nice Chocolate Crème Pie.”

Tony barked out a laugh. “That sounds like a story.”

“Your mom,” Steve breathed quietly, his eyes flying to James’ before clearly forcing himself to stay quiet. 

James nodded tightly. “Yeah, I kept the tradition going. Listen, I need to head out and get prepped for my other job. Steve, it was great to see you again. Tony and Pepper, please let me know if you have any special requests and I’ll keep you in pie.” He turned abruptly on his heel and was nearly back in the safety of the kitchen when he heard his boyfriend. 

“Jamie! Why didn’t you tell me we had such illustrious visitors?” Brock boomed from the front door of the bakery. “I had to hear from Mrs. Syndergaard that she noticed Mr. and Mrs. Stark in town. You know better than to keep such secrets!”

“It’s actually Dr. Stark and Ms. Potts,” Tony corrected as he stood. “And you are?”

“Mayor Brock Rumlow,” Brock didn’t have an inside voice, so kept booming a bit, and offered his hand to Tony. “I run this town, basically,” he let out James’ least favorite laugh, his completely fake one that James knew meant he was going to hear about this later, “But most importantly, I’m Jamie’s boyfriend.”

James fought to keep his face neutral, leaning towards deferential. 

“Well, we’ve been enjoying Mr. Barnes’ pies for a while,” Tony remarked, his voice politically neutral, “and decided to pop in to see how the magic happens.”

“Well, I’d love to invite you over for dinner tonight, since Jamie is also a fantastic cook.”

“I’m at the inn tonight, Brock,” James replied tightly. 

“Well, I’m sure you can just call out,” Brock said with a tight tone that James was all too familiar with. “It’s not every day we have such important people in town.”

“I can’t-“

“We actually have reserved the main room at the inn,” Tony cut in, “because we’re taking most of the team over at Miller to dinner. Say, why don’t you join us?”

_Why would Tony do that?_ James thought quickly as he re-wrote a few of tonight’s dishes in his mind, just in case Steve was still allergic to pine nuts. 

“Well, that would be excellent, Mr. Stark – “

“Dr. It’s Dr. Stark. I have nine PhDs,” Tony replied in a tone that James couldn’t quite identify, but he’d stopped being able to really read strangers a long time ago. “Tonight at 7, Brock, we’ll see you then.”

Tony motioned to Stephanie to get takeaway containers for all of their treats and got his family (plus Steve) out of the bakery at quite a rapid speed. As soon as they were gone, Brock’s demeanor shifted and James was glad he rarely got angry in front of other people. 

“I was going to tell you tonight, babe,” James replied, trying his best to soothe the savage beast. 

“But I would have lost my opportunity meet them if you told me tonight, Jamie,” Brock replied, emphasizing the nickname he knew James hated but Brock insisted on using as much as possible. “So, what do you say?”

James bit his lip, fighting the battle in him he fought whenever Brock talked like this. Finally, he snorted a breath out his nose and moved to kiss Brock. “I’m sorry, baby, it’s all my fault.”

“You’re right, and you’re forgiven,” Brock smiled and James felt the ghost of a memory of who they used to be pass over him. “Now, I’m going back to the office and you should add that lobster thing to the menu tonight.”

“I can’t get last minute lobster,” James replied. “I placed the order for the specials before I knew they were coming.”

“But you should always be ready for me, and the lobster thing is my favorite.”

James heard a noise behind him and knew that Maggie was gearing up to give Brock a piece of her mind which would be a catastrophic idea, so he quickly said, “I’ll make it for you over the weekend, baby, I promise. I’ll call my Maine guy. It’s just too late tonight and it’s off season for good lobster and I never want to serve you subpar stuff, not for my baby.”

This mollified Brock, the way James knew it would, and soon Brock was out the door and James was back to his workspace, trying his best to breathe. 

“James,” Maggie whispered. 

“Not fucking now, Mags, I can’t.”

The five of them danced around each other for the next while in a well choreographed routine that happened whenever Brock came into Pies & Lattes. The first few times it happened, Maggie had tried to get James to talk about it. Since then, they entered into unspoken patterns to give James room to calm and Audrey fought every instinct she had to not launch into the definitions of abusive relationships and James’ various options for getting the fuck away from Brock. 

As the one time she had, it had not gone… well. 

_“Are you saying I’m some weak man who can’t handle my boyfriend?” James had snapped._

_“No!” Audrey had gasped. “I’m saying that Brock is a bully and it seems like he may be a really terrible boyfriend and I wanted you to know that you don’t need to stay with someone who doesn’t make you happy.”_

_“Who said he doesn’t make me happy?”_

_“Um,” Audrey looked a little gobsmacked. “Are you honestly telling me you’re happy? You’re probably a Michelin level pastry chef working in the middle of Pennsytucky with a man who talks to you like you’re an employee rather than the man he loves –“_

_“Brock loves me,” James cut her off._

_Audrey licked her lips in thought. “One more statement and then I’ll let this drop. Love doesn’t look like that, James. Love is kind and patient and giving and generous and love doesn’t look like belittling or mocking. That’s control, not love, and you deserve love. You are worth love.” She placed a gentle kiss to his forehead and went on her way._

When the chime hit 1pm, Stephanie came into the kitchen and said, “a promise is a promise, Barnes, and then you need to head home.”

Grateful for the distraction from Brock, James smiled. “Like I said, not really a lot to tell. That guy is Steve Rogers and we grew up around the block from each other. We dated in high school and then he got this really fancy Stark Industries scholarship to some school in France to be an artist. He didn’t come home much, and I couldn’t go over there, so we just kind of drifted. Then I went to Afghanistan and you guys know the rest. That’s the first time I’ve seen him since… 1999? Maybe?”

James’ brain knew he was a liar, since the real story was more _that guy is Steve Rogers, who is the love of my life and who I never really deserved. I wanted to marry him and be with him forever but I’m too small for him, and when he got that scholarship to fucking Paris and was going to turn it down, I had to break him off so he wouldn’t be stupid. He never came home for breaks because by the point I lit our love on fire, his mom was dead and he was living in my basement and I have no idea what he’s doing with the Starks still, but if he comes in here again, I may actually die. The last time I saw him was August 20th, 2000, at 7:45pm._

“Okay, that covers the dude. That does not cover the Bucky.”

James rolled his eyes. “My middle name is Buchannan, like the President, and Steve was being a jerk one day, I think we were six, and he decided to fuck around with my name, since there were seven James’ on the block. James B. was lame, I hated Jamie, and so it just kind of evolved from there. I think there are people in Brooklyn who don’t know my legal name.”

“So, why aren’t you Bucky here?”

James should have been prepared for that question, he really should have. 

He wasn’t. 

“I’m not that boy anymore,” James finally squeaked out, around a lump in his throat and liquid rushing to his eyes. “Now, that’s the story, nothing exciting.”

They’d all been working together enough to know when James was done talking about something, so Audrey changed the subject to what she was going to wear on a date that weekend. 

James got ready to leave at that point, giving Susan some last minute instructions about the bread he was letting rise and an idea for a new scone flavor the following morning. As he got in his car, he was once again fighting back tears. The day had already been too much and it was 1:30.

_____________________________

“Patience, grasshopper,” Tony muttered as they walked from the coffee shop to car and Steve was clearly itching to ask why they were having dinner with Mayor Asshat back there. “Patience.”

They got to the inn, checked in for the one night, all of them once again marveling at how much paraphernalia Morgan required, and Pepper got Morgan ready for her afternoon nap. Once the two men were alone, Steve couldn’t take it any longer. 

“What the hell,” Steve asked. 

“I have the same question, but I’ll answer first,” Tony said. “Friends close but enemies closer and Brock Rumlow is definitely our enemy.”

“Is that why you threw around the doctor bullshit?”

Tony shrugged. “He wanted a dick measuring contest and I was happy to provide.”

“You knew that within six seconds of him walking in the door?”

“I knew that from the way everyone at the plant talked about him, the way your boy’s eyes went a little feral when you called him Bucky, and from the fact that he introduced himself as James, everyone in that place called him James, but all the social media calls him Jamie,” Tony rattled off. “Brock’s a problem, but we’ll solve it.”

“He hated being called Jamie,” Steve replied. 

“Spoiler alert, Picasso, he still does,” Tony smiled gently. 

“No, we talked about Picasso, he’s off the list,” Steve waved a hand. “I’ll accept Van Gogh, but not a pedophile.”

“Picasso was a, you know what, I probably don’t want to know since I think I own a few of them, so okay, spoiler alert, _Van Gogh_ , your boy still hates being called Jamie.”

“He’s not my boy,” Steve grumbled. “We dated a life time ago.”

Tony made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. “You can’t lie to me, sugarplum, that man shattered you. He’s your one who got away and now he’s not away, so go get him.”

“He’s got a boyfriend.”

“He’s got a definitely controlling and potentially abusive tank of a human who throws his titles around like they mean a fucking thing,” Tony corrected. “We can work with that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” All of a sudden, Steve just felt tired. 

“I’m plotting-“

“Meddling.”

“Potayto, potahto,” Tony dismissed. “Now, give me the skinny on his magical pies.”

Steve smiled a bit. “His ma was a baker, never sold them or anything, just every single special thing that happened in the neighborhood, there was one of Winnie’s pies. She always had this bananas names for them too, which you can see Bucky’s continued.”

“Do you remember your favorite?”

Steve barked a laugh. “My 10th birthday, I was obsessed with Star Wars, so she made me In a Galaxy Far, Far Away Lemon Meringue and I have no idea what she put in the crust, but I honestly should have known the pie we had last night was Bucky’s. It tasted like one of hers.”

“Is she still baking?”

Steve shook his head. “She died our senior year of high school.”

“What about his dad?”

Steve shrugged. “He wasn’t around a whole lot. Winnie and Ma kind of raised us in tandem. I moved in with them once Ma died, and I think I saw George… four times? After I did? Maybe? He was, maybe still is, a long-distance trucker. We rarely saw him and when we did… I don’t know. I never heard Bucky call him dad.”

“Mmm,” Tony looked thoughtful. 

“Does this all remind you of Howard?”

Tony shot him a sad smile. “Shitty parenting is a universal.”

The two men sat quietly for a few seconds, which for Steve meant he was lost in thought and for Tony meant he was holding his tongue to let Steve think. Finally, Tony could do so no longer. “I’m just going to say that I am willing to eat as much pie as you need me to while you sort your feelings.”

Steve cracked up. “Thank you for your sacrifice, Anthony.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Steven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, dinner at which Steve will not punch Brock, he swears, and an exchange of phone numbers. 
> 
> Also, Pennsytucky is a term used frequently by people from the state to describe the parts that aren't Amish, Philly, or Pittsburgh. PA is much more rural than most folks give it credit for, tbh. For anyone familiar with PA geography, I've put Ballygowan in Schuylkill County.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotten a few questions about why I refer to Bucky as James throughout the fic, even in narrative. Well, in the same way that he's The Asset as the Soldier, Brock has him programmed as James. It's intentional, I promise, but I'm sorry if it's jarring. 
> 
> But I'm constitutionally incapable of not writing happily-ever-afters, so I promise our boys get their own here!

_I'm not anything like I used to be, although it's true_  
_I was never attention's sweet center_  
_I still remember that girl_

_She's imperfect, but she tries_  
_She is good, but she lies_  
_She is hard on herself_  
_She is broken and won't ask for help_

__

_She is messy, but she's kind_  
_She is lonely most of the time_  
_She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie_  
_She is gone, but she used to be mine_

Later, _much_ later that night, when Brock was finally asleep, James found himself in their kitchen, desperately wishing his mother was alive and searching out the sugar, butter, and flour to begin whatever his heart was hoping to start. 

As he mixed them together, with a routine that had become second nature long over a decade before, he lost himself in thought. Tonight had been a _disaster_ that looked completely normal to everyone else. 

To have Steve and Brock in one place was nightmare making enough, but what was even worse was that Steve just kept looking at him. James rarely emerged from the kitchen once he got going, but Tony had requested him at one point to come out so they could thank him and the second James had left the kitchen and stepped into the private room where the Stark party was, his skin burned with Steve’s gaze. 

_“Chef Barnes,” Tony said magnanimously and James noticed once again that Tony only ever spoke to him with utmost respect. The tone chaffed at him. “This was incredible and I can’t believe you pulled it together on such short notice, especially with some of our allergy requirements.”_

__

__

_James couldn’t stop himself from snorting. “Stevie’s been allergic to air since we was kids, wasn’t too hard to rearrange things.” If anyone noticed the Brooklyn in his accent, no one said anything._

_“Regardless,” Pepper broke in. “It was incredible. Mayor Rumlow mentioned you also managed a special pie? Will you tell us what’s inside?”_

James snorted at the memory. _What’s inside, Pepper? Me. I’m inside. Or who I was._ His first thought had been to just lay it out there. That what was inside all of his pies was the version of himself he barely remembered, the one who was loved so fiercely by Winnie, Sarah, and Steve, the one who was ignored by George, but benevolently so, the one who didn’t set his own soul on fire when he was young just because he was so in love he couldn’t contain himself. 

He’d tell her that where his customers all tasted love, and memories, and goodness, he tasted regret, and pain, and grief. 

He went to the fridge on auto-pilot and pulled out some of the peaches he’d been marinating in bourbon since the day before. Adding some honey and a touch of salt that no one would notice except if it was missing, he poured it into the waiting tin. 

_“The blonde guy with the kid wanted me to give this to you,” the head waiter handed James a piece of paper just before the pie went out._

_‘James – I’m not interested in rehashing our fight before I flew, but I’d like to catch-up if you’re willing. Hear how things have been for you. I’ve missed you. 212-874-8832. – Stevie’_

_James had shoved the paper into his knife sleeve, knowing it wouldn’t fall out there since prep was over, and handed the man the pie. “Take these out – one is No One Lays a Finger On my Peanut Butterfinger Pie and the other is Winnie and Sarah’s Front Porch Pie. Please place the meringue one in front of the blonde man with the kid.”_

_James braced himself for the broken jaw that might come from that move, but he’ll try to blame it on Shawn and pray that Brock forgot his mother’s name. He snuck quickly to the window that let him look into the room, making it just in time to see the look on Steve’s face as the pie went in front of him. He looked over towards where Stark was sitting and made a gesture that James didn’t recognize but hopefully indicated happiness._

As the bourbon peach pie baked, James brainstormed ideas for the name, realizing that he wanted to call it was My Ex-Boyfriend Walked Back Into My Life and I’m Questioning All of My Life Choices and Dousing Everything in Maker’s Mark Pie, but that wouldn’t really fit on a menu. 

The cleaning up after the baking was as meditative to him as the baking itself. He remembered his mother reminding him that everything had to be ready for the next time, all the ingredients back in their places, all the surfaces hygienic since they’d never know when inspiration would strike. 

The timer dinged and he took the pie out to rest, knowing that it would be a great Pie & Lattes classic just from the smell. He checked the clock – 4:00am – and headed upstairs to shower. He didn’t always make the day’s pie at home, but he always had ingredients on hand in case he needed to. 

He’d needed to a lot lately. 

The first time Brock had hit him, the pair had just moved in together. James had been back from Afghanistan for about two years and was – in retrospect – in desperate need of therapy but was avoiding anyone who could possibly help him. He was fine. His arm hurt like a son of a bitch most of the time, sure, and he was just re-gaining the dexterity he needed for delicate pastry work, but Brock seemed to make him think everything would be okay. Brock was beautiful, and kind, and it made James think that maybe he could stop fighting on his own for a little. That someone else could maybe be who Steve was. 

And then James had flirted with one of the delivery boys and Brock had taken the opportunity remind James how much Brock didn’t share. 

It was about a year before it happened again and then another few months and the breaths of time in between were enough to make James believe that this is just what his life was now. He always healed, after all, and Brock paid for any of the medical bills that weren’t covered by the VA, so it wasn’t a big deal. 

Ballygowan was a small town and so it made sense to James that Brock would be the center of his world. He’d grown up there, after all, and James hadn’t, and it was Brock who owned Pie & Lattes, and Brock who got the good deal on the car so of course his name was on the title, and Brock who owned the house. James was pretty happy to just… roll along. 

It wasn’t until Maggie had started asking questions that he realized that maybe Brock was wrong. That maybe James wasn’t stupid or embarrassing, that maybe his pies really were something special, that maybe he was a man Winnie would be proud to know. That maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t what his life had to look like. 

As James let the shower water wash over him, he snorted to himself softly. Muttering out loud, he replied to his own memories, the way he did whenever he got above himself. “Everyone who knew Bucky Barnes is dead, and just because Steve showed back up doesn’t mean he wants to know James. Where the fuck would I go?” 

_Anywhere, pet, anywhere. You could go anywhere and we could go together and make a better life_. That voice was Sarah Rogers’, spoken countless times to Winnie and James knew it’s what she would say to him if he were here. 

If he learned anything from Winnie besides her pie magic, it was that dreams were illusions. They might be a soft place to land after days of fighting to just live, but they were useless mirages for anyone crawling through the desert. 

James shut off the shower, dried himself, and dressed. Careful to be as quiet as possible, he made his way to the bakery for a day he hoped contained less Steve Rogers because he could handle Brock’s bullshit, but another day of Steve’s eyes would destroy him. 

_____________________________

“Remind me again?”

It was about a week after their trip to Ballygowan and Steve and Pepper were in her office. There had been some drama with the Edinburgh office and Tony had been dispatched to soothe the savage beasts, so Steve was on Morgan duty while Pepper tried to sort the backend paper work. Steve had dropped by with lunch, since he knew nothing would calm Pepper down more than to hold her daughter. 

“Of the breakup? Sure, why not re-live the worst few hours of my entire life for your amusement,” Steve smirked at his friend. 

She flipped him off and spooned more sweet potatoes into Morgan’s waiting mouth. “It’s just, now that we’ve seen Bucky, I just need a refresher.”

Steve sighed. “Well, it was the literal night before Happy picked me up and I met you at JFK. I had made him a journal to write in – he was starting to come up with his own ideas for baking and cooking and stuff and I wanted him to have something to write them in, so we were sitting in the kitchen and I went to go get it. I got back and he’d cleaned everything up and had nervous look on his face.

“He slid a photo strip across the counter to me, those ones you can get in booths? Well, it was of him and another guy. A guy who was not me, but who had his tongue down Bucky’s throat and all I remember at that point is that everything in my head sounded like I was underwater.”

It had been, what, sixteen years? Seventeen? Yet, whenever Steve took himself back to that moment, the feelings were fresh and as he talked to Pepper, he blinked away tears. 

“He told me that the dude in the picture was named Frank and they’d been seeing each other for a while, and with me going to France, he’d made a decision to be with Frank.”

“I forgot about the pictures,” Pepper replied. 

“Oh, my darling Pepper, they are burned into my memory,” Steve replied, subtly wiping his eyes. “Anyway, I screamed and cried, and he was completely calm, which made me scream and cry harder, and he finally told me that, basically, we had a good run, but me moving to Paris was as good a time as any to break it off. He offered to shake my hand,” Steve ground out those words, because of all the bullshit of that night, the handshake was the worst, “and I batted it away and went to my room. The next time I spoke to anyone was you the next day.”

“Did you follow him at all?”

Steve shook his head. “By the time I left for Paris, we were pretty much all we had. I’m sure if we’d had MySpace or something then I would have kept up with more people, but moving across an ocean gave me a great opportunity to just disconnect from Brooklyn completely. I didn’t know about his arm until yesterday, didn’t know he’d gone into the army, certainly didn’t know about that asshat. But,” he grinned sadly, “I really shoulda recognized the pie.”

“Does he lace the crust with opiods or something? What is the secret?”

Steve laughed. “Everyone asked Winnie that, although when we were growing up, everyone just wanted to know what crack she put in it, and Ma would respond only the good kind of Irish craic. Meaning life, and joy, and happiness, and love.”

“It sounds like those two were special, Steve,” Pepper smiled softly. 

“Oh, Ma and Winnie were two of a kind, and so were me and Buck.”

The two fell into a companionable quiet as Pepper finished feeding Morgan, who wore at least half of her lunch, and Steve worked on a new set of sketches he had a commission for. 

“I gave him my number,” Steve mentioned with a firmer sense of casualness than he felt. “Just to see if he wanted to get back in touch.”

“Has he used it yet?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”

“Well,” Pepper grinned. “If you want an excuse, I’m sure you could expense a trip down for pie.”

Steve laughed, but there was a sadness there that broke Pepper’s heart. “No, I mean, I’ll go for pie, but if he’s the one who told me he didn’t need me anymore. I’ve never stopped needing him, not really, so this one has got to be his move.”

“I get it,” Pepper affirmed. “No need to explain.”

_Besides_ , Steve thought, _if he won’t even let me call him Bucky, how could he let me love him again?_

Three days later, however, Steve’s phone dinged with an unknown number. 

_570-778-2341: Hey Stevie, it’s James._

_570-778-2341: You left without telling me if you liked the lemon pie._

Steve had to bite his lip from breaking into hysterical laughter. The pie. Of course this was going to be about the pie. 

_Steve: It was fine._

_James: I see the ensuing years has not made you less of a punk._

_Steve: Takes one to know one._

_James: Jerk._

_Steve: How did you get your mom to tell you what was in the crust?_

_James: It wasn’t hard to figure out._

_Steve: I have tried to make that pie at least four hundred times._

_James: You cannot bake to save anyone life, much less your own._

_Steve: Desperate times, asshat._

_James: New insults, but no new skills._

_Steve: I’ve picked up a thing or two._

_James: Yeah, I see you know how to tie a tie now, so that’s an improvement. Did Pepper hire you a stylist with the fancy scholarship?_

_Steve: No, she hired me one when I got the gig at SI. Something about Tony being tired of me looking like a starving artist when we went to events._

_James: When did that happen?_

And for the next five hours, the past years poured over text messages. Steve asked a few times if he could call, but James said no, that Brock was in the next room and that texts were safer. 

_Steve: He won’t even let you catch up with an old friend?_

_James: He doesn’t like not knowing everything about my life._

_Steve: That’s fucked up._

_James: Works for us._

_James: Those internet pages of you and Stark. True?_

_Steve: For about three seconds while he and Pep were on a break once._

_James: You got a fella anywhere?_

_Steve: Na, too busy._

Finally, Steve couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and saw that the clock said 3:30am. 

_Steve: I thought you said you open the shop at 4:30. You need to get to sleep!_

_James: Some things are more important._

_James: Good catching up._

_James: I’ll make you a pie today. Send you a picture._

_Steve: Whuddya gonna call it?_

_James: It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood Chocolate Chiffon Pie._

_Steve: Fucker._

_James: Have a great day, Mr. Rogers._

Steve smiled. Maybe he demanded to be called something different, but Bucky Barnes was still in there somewhere. And that? That Steve could work with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/betheflame1) to yell at me as needed. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments et al - this one should be finished pretty quickly, actually. I have everything written but the next chapter. The middle of this one is what is killing me - I've had the ending written since I started it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! This was the chapter causing me the most problems and I finally wrestled it to the ground. The rest of the fic is basically written, so let me get it through edits and then it'll post. Oh, and I got a really exciting surprise for you in the epilogue!

And so life, as it is wont to do, went on. 

Pepper or Steve showed up at Pie & Lattes about every other week, usually with Morgan in tow, and they quickly became temporary locals instead of tourists. Steve agreed to do a How to Sketch Faces lecture at the local high school, Pepper gave a few talks to the Chamber of Commerce, Tony re-wired most of the wifi in the town, and Morgan became quite used to being passed around to the various groups of people who gathered at the café during the week. 

Steve and James kept texting, but only in bursts, and only initiated by James and Steve had a feeling he deleted all the conversations after they happened. 

_James: So, how much ink do you have?_

_Steve: Four pieces, one on each arm and then one on my left pec, and one on my right rib cage._

_James: Significance?_

_Steve: Yeah, the first one is for the first piece of art I sold after college, then one for when Morgan was born, then one for our ma's, and then there's a long story behind the last one I'll tell you in person sometime._

_James: Morgan? She's yours?_

_Steve: Fuck no, not like that. Just... she's my goddaughter and she may be the only kid I ever have like that, and Pepper and Tony tried for a long, long time for her, so she's our miracle baby. I wanted something that would help remind me to never take her for granted._

_James: So, still a sap._

_Steve: Forever._

Steve had also – for no connected reason at all – started reading a lot about trauma theory and domestic violence. 

_“Did you know it takes an average of seven times for someone to fully leave their violent partner?” Steve remarked to Pepper and Tony once over dinner._

_Pepper nodded, “I heard that somewhere.”_

_“Seven times.”_

_“It accelerates if there’s children involved, sometimes,” Pepper replied, as though she was pulling the information from the recesses of her brain._

_“I just don’t get it,” Steve replied. “Brock is clearly such an asshole, I just can’t understand why Buck – James would stay with him.”_

_Tony made a humming sound and the others snapped their eyes to him. He’d only emerged from the workshop a few moments before and now fiddled in his pockets producing two phones. “Ma never left and I think she loved him to the end. She certainly didn’t leave when he started on me, so, yeah, anyway, here are two phones that I hardwired for you and Barnes. Asshat can’t hack this one so your conversations will be secure. I know it’s a risk for him to carry two phones, so I made his as small as possible, it should fit in his little chef jacket pocket thing.”_

_Steve blinked a few times, his brain still frozen on the first part of Tony’s statement and berating himself for speaking so freely about James when Tony’s…_

_“Hey,” Tony interrupted him. “You’re making that face, knock it off, they’re dead and I’m fine now, now we get him out. Focus. The phones. Take them down next time you go.”_

It was the middle of December, about six months after their first meeting, and everyone in Ballygowan was getting ready for Christmas. After the insanity of Thanksgiving – James told Steve he made 650 pies in the weeks leading up to the holiday since people drove in from everywhere to get them – it seemed like Christmas was just as bad. 

_“Christmas pies, Hanukkah desserts, I’ve even gotten some people handing me old family recipes and asking if I could make them, so now I make juleka, which is Danish, every year, and piroshkis, which are Russian, and a few other things. I will smell like yeast until New Years.”_

The air was crisp and snow felt like it was threatening as Steve pulled into his usual parking spot outside Pie & Lattes around 9am on a Thursday. 

“Hey James?” Steve called from the kitchen door. “Maggie told me it was okay to come on back since they’re all swamped out front – Jesus Christ, what happened to your eye?”

James smiled tightly. “I ran into a door. Happens. I bruise easy since the war, something with meds they had me on, dunno. What are you doing here?” The tone wasn’t unkind, but there was something in it that made Steve’s fists clench quickly. 

“I had a free day,” Steve said slowly, reminding himself to breathe. “I told you yesterday that I was taking the jet down this morning.”

“Oh, yeah,” James smiled, the action not really reaching his eyes. “I forgot. Sorry, hectic here.”

“James,” Steve’s voice was low and pleading. 

“Steven,” James turned fully towards the other man now and his voice was firm. “We have talked about this. Brock doesn’t like not knowing everything about my life and I forgot to tell him some things. It’s my fault and I’ve handled it. Now, I just pulled some cranberry bread out of the oven and I know you like it with that apple butter so pull up a stool and cop a squat while I decorate the rest of these cupcakes.”

“You don’t usually make cupcakes,” Steve replied, following James’ instructions. 

James smiled, this one reached his eyes, Steve noted, and replied, “It’s for the elementary school holiday concert tonight. One of the moms came in frantic yesterday that she was supposed to bake a few dozen but her oven broke and it’s not like they have the money to fix it and could I do her a solid and so just call me Betty Crocker.”

Steve grinned and took out his sketch pad. 

“Whuddya doing?”

“This is fucking adorable,” Steve replied with a smirk. “You are going to be covered in edible glitter in about seven seconds.”

“I’m a professional,” James replied. 

“A professional mess,” Steve retorted. 

James responded by reaching out and smearing frosting across Steve’s nose. Steve waited two beats and then put his finger up to his nose, took a scoop of frosting and put his finger in his mouth to clean off the frosting. 

His eyes didn’t leave James’, so Steve noticed _exactly_ when James’ pupils dilated.

The air felt heavy between them and Steve was about to be brave/stupid when they heard footsteps behind them. 

“Well, Mr. Rogers, what a pleasant surprise,” Brock boomed in the small space. 

Steve wiped the excess frosting off his face so fast that he probably jammed a finger. “I had a free day so I decided to come down and see if I could help out with all the holiday madness.”

“Well, that’s generous of you,” Brock replied evenly. 

“I’m a generous guy,” Steve replied, careful to match his tone. “So, James, purple frosting and silver glittery stuff?” He reached for the frosting spreader James had dropped and calmly began to get to work. 

“Yeah,” James said, “I’ll do the piping to finish, but please be neat.”

Steve rolled his eyes and hoped the room would start to feel normal again soon. 

“Well, baby,” James continued, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was in the area-“

_Bullshit_ , Steve thought. _Someone told you I was here._

“-and wanted to drop by and see you.”

“Oh, well, I’m here,” James said as he moved around the kitchen. 

“Are you at the inn tonight?”

“No,” James said. “After I deliver the cupcakes to the school, I’ll be done.”

“Great, well, let me know what we’re having for dinner and I’ll get some wine to match,” Brock replied, crossing the room to give James what Steve could only describe as a territorial kiss. 

_Calm down, buddy, you’ve made it perfectly clear what a possessive bag of dicks you are._

“Okay, I’ll see you at home.”

As Brock nearly stomped out of the kitchen, Steve took a deep breath and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Did he find the phone?”

James gave a tight shake of his head. “I forgot to tell him that you all were bringing Morgan to see Santa next week and someone asked him about it and he felt blindsided.”

“So he _punched you in the face_?” Steve struggled to keep his voice to a whisper. 

James was in front of him immediately, noses touching as he growled. “Steve, I know what you’re doing, if you don’t think the girls say the same shit, but I love him and he loves me and he just has a temper and I have a high pain tolerance and it is fine. _I am fine_. Stop it.”

“Stop what,” Steve whispered as he could smell the coffee on James’ breath. 

“Stop doing the savior thing, the thing where you’d beat up everyone in the neighborhood who violated your moral code, stop it. I’m a big boy, Stevie, and I can take care of myself.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” Steve responded before he could stop himself. 

James snapped back and glared at Steve. “Are you going to help frost cupcakes or are you going to get the fuck out of here, because those are your options. Audrey!” He raised his voice on the last word, summoning the barista. 

She popped her head in the kitchen. “Yeah, boss?”

“Stevie needs his fancy latte and I could use a chai as I frost, can you hook us up?”

Of all the changes that Steve noticed in James, one of the biggest yet most inane was that he no longer drank coffee. 

“On it,” Audrey grinned at them. “Thanks for helping, Steve, he’s a dickwad when he’s stressed.”

James threw a towel in her direction as she chuckled and went to make their drinks. 

“You got good people here, James,” Steve said after a few moments of quiet, his hands full of frosting. “I’m glad.”

“I do,” James said. “I got a good life here. I’m glad you got a good one, too.”

The pair worked in tandem for a while with James offering constructive criticism to Steve’s decorating ability, _numbnuts what is wrong with you, you are a delicate artist how can you frost like a demented gorilla_ , and Steve finally giving up and pulling back out his sketch pad for a few moments before James started to whine again about how behind he was and the cycle would inevitably start over. 

Susan arrived at 10 and took over the bulk of the prep for the café so James didn’t have to keep splitting his attention. After the cupcakes, he moved on to a few loaves of bread, explaining the science of yeast to Steve as he did. 

Steve did his best not to fall in love all over again. 

He failed, but man did he try.

_____________________________

“The random visits just aren’t enough,” Steve commented to Pepper and Tony the following week as they drove away from Ballygowan, with phones full of photos of scenes that could have come straight from a Hallmark Christmas movie. Small town America really was something sometimes. “I feel like every time I see him, he’s been… I don’t know… frozen or something between visits. Nothing changes while I’m gone, but sometimes, sometimes he opens up while I’m there, and…”

“What do Maggie and Audrey say?” Pepper asked. 

“Well, Maggie wants me to drug him and kidnap him and take him back to New York, which is not the track I’d take-“

“No,” Pepper smiled. 

“And Audrey just keeps telling us both to be patient. That she can see the small differences, she can feel James standing up to Brock more, that we just need to bide our time because it has to be James’ decision to leave,” Steve sighed. 

“What are you getting him for Christmas?” Tony asked from the driver’s seat. 

“The painting should be finished in time,” Steve said and Tony grinned in the rear view mirror. 

For the past three months, Steve had been painting a mural for the wall of Pie & Lattes that he hadn’t told anyone about but Pepper, Tony, and Audrey. It was of James’ pies, complete with some of the more famous names, and other elements of the shop itself. 

“He’s going to lose his shit,” Tony said, “in the best way.”

“It’s just a painting,” Steve said. “If I bought him anything, Brock will lose it, so this feels safer since it’s for the shop.”

“It’s just a painting says the man whose paintings sell for millions these days,” Tony’s eyes twinkled in the mirror. 

“They only sell for that much because the art market is driven by a false sense of market value and because you bought my first one for $500,000 back in the day and that made everyone think I was worth that,” Steve said, the well-worn argument falling from his lips. 

“Because you are, Steven,” Tony said soundly. “You are the best visual artist of your generation. Get the fuck over it.”

Steve rolled his eyes, as he always did when Tony quoted the press about him, and mentally took himself to his studio so he could hopefully figure out the shading in the left corner of the painting that was giving him hell. 

A few days later, the painting was finished and Steve had one of their staff box it up and get it shipped down to the shop. He attached a simple note. 

_J –_

_The left wall? The one above Audrey’s machines? It’s been bugging me. So here’s something to fix it._

_Merry Christmas, old friend. I’m glad we reconnected._

_Yours,  
S_

Audrey texted the following day to say it had arrived and that she had made James wait until the shop was empty to open the crate. 

_Audrey: We all came back after his shift at the inn, even Susan, who never comes back after she closes. Anyway, holy fuck, Steve, we knew you were good, but holy fuck._

_Steve: Honestly, the blank wall was bugging me._

_Audrey: Sure._

_Steve: Merry Christmas, Dr. Audrey._

_Audrey: He was a mess, Mr. Rogers. A top to bottom disaster zone, but we cleaned him up before he went home to Mayor Dickbag, so the secret is safe._

_Steve: I’m so glad he has you all._

_Audrey: And we’re glad he has you._

_Audrey: Has he talked about his arm to you?_

Steve looked at the text a few times, confused a bit. 

_Steve: Yeah, one of the first times I was down. Explained it got blown off by a suicide bomb blast. It was around the same time that Tony offered him a new arm for, like, the ninth time. Why?_

_Audrey: Because in ten years, none of us have ever heard an explanation._

_Audrey: Merry Christmas, Mr. Rogers. See you next year._


	6. Chapter 6

_Who'll be reckless, just enough_  
_Who'll get hurt, but who learns how to toughen up_  
_When she's bruised and gets used by a man who can't love_  
_And then she'll get stuck_

Just as James predicted, the painting which made his heart grow three sizes made Brock’s shrink the same amount. Christmas was a tense affair when they were alone and so James stress baked. He dug deep into his stash of preserves and made sweet things with plums and cherries and blackberries, and savory breads and pies with zucchini and squash. 

_“Geez, James,” Maggie remarked one morning when she walked into a room with seven zucchini loafs cooling._

_“It’s cheaper than therapy, Mags,” James quipped, his usual response whenever Maggie commented on his over baking._

_“Not like you’ve tried it,” Mags retorted, also in their usual script._

New Year’s Eve brought Brock’s annual house party, where he opened their house to the entire town and most cycled in and out throughout the day. The tradition had evolved into a bit of a potluck situation, where James promised desserts if everyone else brought a finger food dish to share. James and Brock always ended up with more food than they knew what to do with, and James would discretely re-distribute it the next day to families in the area who needed it. 

James liked the party for a few reasons. First, it was just about the only time anyone he considered a friend would be at their house. Second, Brock was usually well distracted by being important and largely left James to his own devices. Finally, there was little else in the world that James Barnes liked more than feeding people and making them feel at home. 

The open house commenced at noon and ran until 1am, and James’ favorite bits were in the afternoon when all the kids were there. That year he had planned some basic cookie decorating out in the garage, which always served as the kids’ zone for any parties held at Mayor Brock and Mr. James’ house. 

He was getting a little bolder with the Secret Steve Phone, and took it out quickly to snap a shot of the setup. 

_Steve: I think you need more drop cloths._

_James: lol. Probably._

_Steve: It looks like something we woulda loved._

_James: That’s why I do it. Lots of kids here growing up like us._

_Steve: Idiots solving problems with their fists?_

_James: No job hopes, no way to get out, no extra money so they do stupid shit cuz they’re bored._

_Steve: We got out._

_James: You’re supernaturally talented and I sacrificed an arm to do it. There’s got to be a better way._

_Steve: Well, I know a guy with some extra cash. We may be able to come up with something._

James heard footsteps and shoved the phone back into his front pocket, hurrying to futz with some of the cooling racks before Brock was in the garage. 

“Hey Jamie,” Brock said, his voice all sweetness and sunshine, like it was in the old days. 

“Hey baby, just give me a second, I gotta finish this bit,” James replied without looking at his boyfriend. 

“Okay, just find me when you’re done. I’m having trouble moving the new couch.”

_Well, that’s odd_ , James remarked to himself. _He’s never in a good mood these days_.

So James finished arranging the kids' room and wandered into the living room, where Brock was indeed struggling to shift the new behemoth couch they had ordered over the summer. They fell into an easy patter of conversation as they shifted all the furniture around in the house to accommodate as many people as possible. James was grateful, however, that it was mild enough to allow folks in the yard. 

Stephanie arrived first, with her new boyfriend and her traditional pot of chili. Then were a few folks from Brock’s office and then before James knew it, it was about 4:30 and everything was going really well. 

“Hey Jaime,” Brock called into the kitchen. “When are we putting out your handpies?”

“About 5:30, I think,” James called back, arranging some things on the baking sheet and sliding it into the oven. _And then once the handpies are done, I can do the three pies for tonight._ He ran down the rest of his to-do list as he moved with confidence around the kitchen. The corner of his eye caught Maggie moving towards him. 

“Just get here?”

“It’s almost time for the traditional 6pm State of the Union speech,” Maggie said sardonically. “Why would I ever miss that?”

James smirked in her direction. She knew he hated Brock’s annual speech as much as she did. James had even tried to talk Brock out of it once or twice, but that never went well. 

_“Babe, people are just here for a party, they’re not really listening to you.”_

_“Jamie, whenever I speak, people listen.”_

“You hear from Tall, Blonde, and Wonderful recently?” Maggie asked quietly, after she looked around to ensure no one could overhear them. 

James shook his head. “Not since before everyone got here. Morgan’s sick and they were having trouble finding a sitter, but all three of them have to be at whatever Stark Industries is hosting tonight.”

“Pepper and Steve don’t have parents nearby?”

“Nah, Steve’s ma died before mine did, and Pepper’s have evidently been out of the picture since she took the job at SI. And, you know about Tony’s.”

“Yes, I am a human alive in the world who knows how to read headlines,” Maggie rolled her eyes playfully. 

“So, Steve says that they’re each other’s family, but it must suck on nights like tonight.”

“How badly do you want to be there?”

James looked up, surprised, “no, my place is here, Maggie, you know that. This is a big deal for Brock and for the town.”

Maggie paused, tilting her head to the side and clearly choosing her words carefully. “Sure, but close your eyes, click your heels three times, where do you go?”

James didn’t answer. 

“That’s what I thought,” she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Now, status on everything. I am not making small talk with the Kulshinski’s again so put me to work.”

_____________________________

Steve fiddled with his bowtie and checked his main StarkPhone for the ninth time that hour. James had told him not to bother with their phone; he’d be around too many people to use it.

“Fifteen more minutes, Steven,” Pepper smiled at the action. “Then you can go.”

It was 12:30 and all of the New Year’s cheer had been wrung out of Steve. He’d spent the evening in the penthouse of Stark Tower as he did every year. The annual New Year’s Eve gala was SI’s biggest fundraiser for Make A Wish and Pepper’s team had outdone itself this year. The entire area was decked out as though they were all flying through space. There was always a mix of families who had received their wishes that year with folks who Pepper knew could spare some change. Steve always did a booth of quick portraits and charged an exorbitant fee to those who could afford it and nothing to everyone else. 

He loved it for about two hours, but considering the party was usually about six, it was always just a little much. 

“I’m peopled out, Pep,” Tony collapsed grandly onto his wife and Steve, who were both sitting on a couch in the common room. 

“Like I just told Steve, fifteen minutes,” she remarked, her eyes continually scanning the room as though her husband was not draped over her like a blanket. 

There was a slight tremor through the trio as all three of their phones went off. Assuming it was about Morgan, they scrambled. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Pepper breathed upon reading the message. 

It was a picture of James and Brock, under a sign that read “Just Engaged”.

Steve felt his entire stomach just drop to his feet. He was about to responded when the phone buzzed again. 

_Maggie: We have to get him out of here, we just do. I've tried talking to him about six times since it happened and he's shutting me down. If he marries that fucker, he’ll be trapped in this town forever and so help, me, Obi Wan(s), you’re our only hope_

_____________________________

Even though it felt like he was ready to tear his skin off, Steve waited until he knew the bakery was open again to text James.

_Steve: I hear congratulations are in order._

For the first time since they’d started, he didn’t get a response. 

So the next day, he tried again. 

_Steve: I’m not going to lie and say I like him, but all I really want is you happy. So if this makes you happy, then I am too._

Still no response. 

Finally, on January 5th, Steve woke up to a message that James had sent him at 3:10am. 

_James: I knew I couldn’t say no._

Steve felt tears gather in his eyes unbidden. 

_Steve: Can you now?_

_James: It was in the middle of the party, and everyone was there, and I couldn’t, and that’s why he did it, I know. He did it there because now I’m trapped._

_Steve: You’re never trapped, James._

_Steve: I promise._

_Steve: You’re never trapped._

_James: Thanks, pal. Gotta finish the pies._

Steve sighed heavily and screenshotted the conversation – sending just the clip about being trapped to the Get James Out of Dodge group chat that had started on New Year’s. 

_Maggie: I knew it. Son of a fucking bitch._

_Tony: Patience, Padawan. Big public display, Mayor Asshat isn’t going to risk hurting James this soon. We probably have a month to play with._

_Maggie: How do you know?_

_Tony: I’m a genius, Margaret. You’ll get used to it._

_____________________________

“So,” Tony said a few mornings later. “I’m thinking of commissioning a new set of arty things.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow up as he bounced Morgan on his knee. “Arty things.”

“Yeah,” Tony waved his hand around. “Spring in Pennsylvania sounds like it’s positively pleasant. Green spaces, covered bridges, flora, fauna…”

Steve stared at his best friend. “Tony, what did you do?”

Tony stared back for a few seconds before throwing up his hands. “Fine, I bought an apartment. You’re moving to Ballygowan for the next three months.”

“Tony,” Steve protested. 

“No, listen, I’ve thought about this. You and James, you have shit to work through, I get it, but the real issue is that we know he’s getting knocked around and we know he’s being abused and he thinks he has no other options, right? Because that’s what that dickweed is probably telling him, so let’s give him some options. I will bet my net worth that he only said yes to marrying the dillweed because he thinks that’s all he’s got. 

“Plus, you can fucking paint anything and anywhere and it’s been a little while since we gave you an artist retreat, so fucking go to East Bumblefuck and paint. When you end up white knighting it for your boy, it'll be a bonus on top of the tax write-off.”

Steve knew when to accept defeat. “I’m assuming you’ve figured out who is going to help with Morgan?”

“Eh,” Tony said. “Pepper and I can actually parent without you, I know we’ve never done it, but I’m sure we can manage. Instincts and all that.”

Steve rolled his eyes and Tony grinned, pulling his friend into a hug. “It may take forever, it may be really fucking painful, but that man deserves to live his own life with or without you, but definitely without Rumlow.”

“And you think being near him will show him that he deserves it?”

“Well,” Tony hemmed. “I don’t know about that, but it might show him it’s possible. And hope is the first step in any of this.”

_____________________________

“Shut the _fucking_ door,” James roared over the sizzle of the stove top. “How many times have I told you idiots to shut the door?”

“Since birth? Probably a hundred.”

James nearly dropped the pan of onions he was caramelizing. Instead, he placed them off the burner and turned slowly to see Steve in the inn’s kitchen. 

“Whuddya doing here, punk?”

Neither man moved, as though both knew everything had changed but they had to pretend it hadn’t. 

“Funny story.”

“Can it wait until I get this pot roast in the oven?”

“Ma’s recipe?”

“Is there any other? I can’t make her potatoes taste the same, though,” James grinned. “That’s why I’m here at 1am, trying to fix it.”

Steve grinned and let James settle back into his groove. The kitchen was empty – everyone who had surrounded James for dinner service that evening was long gone and the rumor around town was that the mayor was on a hunting trip with his brother. Steve knew an opportunity when he saw one. 

“So,” James said a few minutes later, heading over to the sink to wash his hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wanted you to know that I live here now.”

“In the inn?”

“No, over on Chestnut.”

A look of confusion crossed James’ face. “You moved from Manhattan,” he drew out slowly, “to Ballygowan.”

Steve nodded. “I was owed an art sabattical from SI, it’s part of my contract, so I took it. I’m gonna paint winter into spring, resurrection of a slumbering nature, all that.”

James blinked. “You don’t do landscapes.”

It was Steve’s turn to look confused. “How do you know what I don’t do?”

“Did your fancy school suddenly teach you how to draw grass and not make it look like pubic hair?”

Steve guffawed. “It did, in fact, teach me how to draw grass that doesn’t look like pubic hair, but thank you for that memory.”

The pair grinned at each other for a few seconds before Steve broke the silence. “Anyway, wanted to give you a head’s up. Pepper and Tony and Morgan will still be down a bunch, you really have created a monster with Tony and your pies, but I’ll be here all the time through at least April 15.”

“Well,” James swallowed the panic that was slowly rising. “It’ll be good to see you.”

Steve nodded, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, one of his known nervousness tells. “James, I’m gonna say my piece real quick and then I promise it’ll never come up again, so just stand there and let me talk at you, okay?”

Before James could interrupt, Steve started pacing. “I have no idea, to this day, why you did what you did back then, who the fuck that guy was in the pictures, or how long it lasted or any of that, but what I do know is that in the last bunch of months we’ve been texting, you have never mentioned Frank again. You talked about Topher, the dude from Bar Harbor you fucked around with that time you were on leave, and then the incredible amount of lotion you went through, and then Brock.

“I have never,” Steve took a deep breath. “Never stopped loving you. It’s you for me, end of the line, forever. I was pretty content with my life before I walked into your shop. Tony and Pepper are the best, and I love being Morgan’s uncle, and my job is great if not weird, and I get to paint. The part of me that needed our kind of love just kinda shut down for a while, but now it’s back and I need you to know that it’s still as true for me today as it was the night we got the hotel room in Red Hook. 

“He isn’t even worth the air you breathe, much less spending the rest of your life with. You, James Buchannan Barnes, are worth ninety of him and I wish you believed me. I want to be in your life however you’ll have me, so I hope the next three months we can start building that into whatever now that you and him are permanent, but I’ll say it one more time and then I’ll stay quiet. I love you. I won’t ever stop.”

Steve stopped talking and held James’ gaze for a few seconds, neither man mentioning the tears they saw. Finally, James nodded and cleared his throat. “Someday, not right now, I’ll tell you about Frank. You deserve to know. Just not, not right now.”

Steve nodded. After a long beat of silence, he continued. “You need help with the potatoes, you said?”

James sniffed and swallowed. “Yeah, can’t ever figure out how to make them taste right.”

“You add chicken stock to the boil.”

“Fucking serious?”

Steve nodded. “No word of a lie. It’s how her granny did it.”

“Huh,” James nodded. 

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Well, I’m going to head upstairs. I snagged a room to stay in until my bed arrives.”

“Got it,” James said, slightly awkwardly. “Well, I’ll see you around then?”

“Yeah, James,” Steve smiled softly. “You’ll see me around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been remiss in not mentioning something. Domestic and intimate partner violence is a very real phenomenon all over the world. While it disproportionately effects women, men are victims and survivors as well. 
> 
> The statistic about taking seven times is real, and while we are often quick to judge anyone who stays, I'd cautiously remind you that life is complicated. I've used Tony as the voice of reason here, because I think he'd know about this from Maria in canon, but also because I felt like it (*shrug*) so his points about hope and choice are all very true. 
> 
> In other news, thanks for the support on this wee fic. It's a joy whenever you let me know it's working for you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, here we are at the conclusion of the main story. I certainly hope you've enjoyed it. I have one more chapter for you - just as the musical contains an epilogue, so shall this fic, and I hope to get it up next week. An absolutely incredible fellow fandom creator is cooking up a surprise to go along with the epilogue and we both want to wait until it's perfect, so we thank you for your patience. 
> 
> Without further adieu... our boys.

_Tony: Any updates on the latest escapades of Mayor Dickweed trying to run you out of town?_

_Steve: That last stunt he pulled got too much attention, I think, so he’s pulled back. But I bet he’ll be pleasantly surprised when I show up to the town meeting tonight._

_Tony: You’re exercising your civic duty for a town you don’t live in? Color me shocked._

_Steve: Fuck off. I have strong feelings about how they’re handling they’re recycling._

_Tony: Oh, Steven. Never change._

_____________________________

If James had _one more person_ today remark to him about how amazing Steve was at the town meeting the previous night, he was going to probably stab someone with his pastry spreader.

“A little tetchy today, James?” Audrey asked calmly as she set a chai down near where he was kneading dough.

“I’m fine,” he bit out.

“You are allowed to be proud of him,” she remarked. “Friends are proud of friends.”

“He opened his gob and now –“ James started and then sighed. “You know what, never mind. I’m not surprised he blew you all away. He was always the smartest kid I knew.”

_It’s just that Brock came home last night and wanted to know where Steve had gotten some of those statistics and started accusing me of leaking intel and I had to remind Brock that most of it was public record and it’s not like that went well and I ran out of sugar in the middle of the night so I couldn’t bake my traditional stress-induced I’m Just Fine Peach Pie to get out of my own head and so now here we are._

“I just see why you guys are such good friends, that’s all,” Audrey continued as she picked up an almond croissant from a cooling pan.

He growled slightly at her. “Don’t you have, I don’t know, coffee to make?”

“Shop’s empty. Steph will call if anyone comes in,” Audrey said blithely. “Was he always this passionate?”

James laughed and grabbed a lump of flour to spread on the counter. Throwing it down, he placed the lump of dough on top and continued to knead it. It would eventually become dinner rolls that they’d sell this afternoon for a few panicked people who forgot that final touch for the evening’s meal. “He was a punk from the jump, Dr. Aud,” James grinned. “If his fists weren’t flying, his mouth was. He was a skinny nothing, I showed you those pictures, but man if his brain didn’t know that.”

“He get beat up a lot?”

“Oh, we both did,” James replied. He pointed to a scar on the side of his neck. “Recess in 4th grade, a kid tried to choke me with his belt and the buckle left a scar.”

“In 4th grade, a child tried to choke you?”

“Well, he was in 5th grade, but I mighta made fun of his sister.”

“And the proper response was choking?”

“Well, I mighta also been distracting them from calling Steve a fairy.”

Audrey nodded slowly. “You and I, dude, we have lived different lives.”

James laughed right out loud at that, earning a grin from Audrey. “Not a lot of getting choked out at your horse farm?”

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Well, anyway,” James changed the subject. “It was always me and him, him getting us into trouble, me getting us out. He had to have surgery when we were nine to fix the scoliosis and once they did that, he started in on boxing lessons because both of our ma’s were getting sick of getting blood out of our shirts.”

“Is that when you started playing baseball?”

James nodded. “She didn’t like the baseball dirt any better.”

Audrey chuckled as Stephanie called that they had a customer. “Brock said something once about a scholarship?”

James winced. “I tried for one, I was up to play ball up in New Hampshire, but I got beat by a guy who had a faster mile than me. That was the only way I was going to college, so I went to pastry school instead.”

“Good for us,” Audrey smiled and left the kitchen.

_Good for me, too_ , James thought. He really liked being able to feed people. Even in the Army, when he wasn’t on mess duty he found a way to create hospitality. After his arm was gone, he was mostly scared he wouldn’t be able to bake again and had said so to his physical therapist.

_Sam laughed. “Buddy, you’ll quickly learn that the only limit to your future is your own brain. You want to bake? We’ll figure out a way. You want to learn sign language? We’ll find you a fully articulated hand. This is a new reality, sure, but you are your only limit to how you interact with it.”_

If James ever got a tattoo, it would probably be that phrase. Sam said it over, and over, that he was his only limit and that had felt so true then. He remembered so vividly what it felt like the first time he’d controlled his hand enough to do piping on a cake. When Pepper had offered the fully upgraded StarkArm a few years back, he’d been so tempted because maybe he’d be able to do even more, but by that time, James was not his only limit any more.

Choosing to do life with Brock had brought a lot of good things. Stability, an income, a community that he had come to love. But James wasn’t a stupid man, he knew he was trading things away to get those.

Before Steve showed back up, however, that had been an easier exchange to justify.

Now, whenever Brock snarled at him, a voice in James’ head would respond _Steve never talked to you that way_. Whenever Brock raised a hand, he’d get a flash of Sarah Rogers explaining that love was never mean. These boxes he’d had locked well away of who he was once… well, the reappearance of Steve Rogers had ripped them back open.

He slid the dough into a bowl so it could rise and allowed himself to sit for a few seconds and enjoy the chai Audrey had delivered. The pocket where he kept his Secret Steve Phone buzzed.

_Steve: Do you have a good recipe for blueberry pancakes?_

_James: Are you actually insulting me?_

_Steve: No. What?_

_James: Of course I do, you idiot. I’ll email it over. Why?_

_Steve: My friend Nat is coming to town and those are her favorite._

James’ brain whirred. Steve had mentioned Nat a few times – they’d worked together at SI for a while before Nat got a different job, with the government maybe?

_James: Well, being Sunday, we’re closed tomorrow, so why don’t we not take the risk of you fucking up my perfection and I’ll just come over and make them._

James stared at the phone. _What did I just do._

_Steve: Are you sure?_

James could hear what Steve wasn’t saying. _Is Brock going to be okay with that?_

_James: Yeah, I mean, we have to use frozen blueberries so they’ll be a little shitty anyway, but yeah. When does she get in?_

_Steve: Her GPS says she’ll be here any minute and she’s staying until Tuesday, if she doesn’t get snowed in._

_James: Welcome to the mountains, Stevie. Blizzards in March are normal._

_Steve: I don’t understand how you have survived for this long. You hate the cold._

_James: So you do, and yet you moved in the middle of winter._

_Steve: Some people are worth freezing for._

It was the most overt Steve had been in weeks, and also a complete butchery of Olaf’s quote, which James knew Steve knew since _Frozen_ was one of Morgan’s current favorite demands.

_James: I thought you were here just to paint._

_Steve: I’m a good multi-tasker._

James fought the smile on his face.

_James: I’ll be over tomorrow around 8? Anything else besides pancakes?_

_Steve: Oh, could there maybe be orange cranberry muffins? Maybe?_

_James: If you’re a good boy._

_Steve: Oh, I can be a very good boy._

James dropped the phone so fast, it was as though his hand got scalded.

_Steve: Shit, I’m sorry. Got carried away. Muffins would be great. See you tomorrow._

James sighed. There were about three weeks left in Steve’s stay here in town and he was no closer to understanding what to do than he was when the man had walked into Pie & Lattes last year.

_____________________________

After much discussion, Steve, Pepper, and Tony decided that Steve would leave Ballygowan on April 15 as originally planned. Steve had advocated staying longer, because he thought maybe he was getting somewhere with James, but Pepper had been firm.

_“If you wait around until he’s ready to leave, then you could be waiting forever, and he’s going to know that you’ve rearranged your life entirely for him, and then that puts a different kind of pressure on him.”_

_Steve sighed. “You’re right.”_

_“So you come back here, and we just go back to visiting and now we have the apartment so if a few visits turn into more, then, fine.”_

Despite James’ teasing, Steve had gotten a lot of work done while in the small town. He’d finished two commissions for a Canadian couple and either completed or started quite a few of the landscapes he’s been sent there to paint. Nat had even complimented a few of them when she was down, which had happened approximately four times in the ten years they’d known each other.

April 3 dawned like any other day in Steve’s Ballygowan life. He usually rolled out of bed, after his internal alarm woke him at 7:30, stretched out the stiffness, and threw on clothes that would keep him warm enough for the short walk to Pies & Lattes. If they were slammed, he’d get his coffee to go and head back to start work on whatever. If they were quiet, however, he’d take a seat and get out his sketch pad.

On that day, however, his James Phone buzzed him awake.

_James: Brock is leaving for three entire days._

“Fucking fantastic news,” Steve said aloud to his empty room.

_James: So don’t pack any of the art you haven’t sent yet. He’ll be gone in a few hours and then I’m coming over to see._

Steve made his way quickly to his studio and made sure to stash any of the pieces he’d been working on of James.

_Steve: Bring food._

James replied with a screenshot of an absolute _pile_ of baked goods.

_James: Please, like this is my first rodeo with Steve Rogers’ appetite?_

Steve smiled and realized that his heart was being a mile a minute. Grabbing his StarkPhone from its charger, he sent a quick text.

_Steve: Asshat’s out of town and James is showing up at my place with baked goods to look at art._

_Tony: I know I’m an old, but please tell me that’s a euphemism. That's got to be a euphemism. I really hope that's a euphemism._

_Steve: You and me both, pal._

_____________________________

_Growing stronger each day 'til it finally reminds her_  
 _To fight just a little, to bring back the fire in her eyes_  
 _That's been gone, but used to be mine_

Brock had gotten a call from the governor’s office the day before, asking if he could be part of a delegation of something else or another that James paid zero attention to. What did matter deeply, however, was that it meant that Brock would be in Harrisburg for _three days_. What mattered even more was that James couldn’t go with him.

_“Baby, I’m sorry, I wish I could be there, but it’s a massive wedding that they booked a year ago, and we just can’t let them down.”_

_“I know, Jamie,” Brock hummed, “I’m just going to miss you. Just promise me you won’t spend too much time with Rogers.”_

_“I promise,” James leaned into Brock’s kiss, fighting the nausea that crept up when their lips touched._

After Susan arrived to take over the day, James headed home from the café to wish Brock a safe trip and waited until the car was completely out of sight. He then headed back to Pie & Lattes, collected Steve’s basket of goodies and walked over to his friend’s apartment.

“Stevie,” he called from the front door, which Steve had left unlocked.

“Living room is the studio, through the hallway and to the right,” Steve called and James was glad he’d remembered that James had never been to Steve’s before.

“Are you hungry now? I can, holy shit,” James stopped in his tracks as he saw what Steve was working on.

“I am, oh hi, what?”

“That’s just beautiful,” James whispered reverently. It was a snow scene from the storm they’d gotten at the beginning of February. James remembered it well, because Tony and Pepper had been down and taken Morgan out sledding and the photos had sent James into a broody tailspin for several days. Steve had shown him the pictures of the frozen waterfall they’d found but James had no idea this was Steve’s intention for them.

Steve rubbed the back of neck and James could see the blush creeping up his ears. “It’s got a lot of work left,” he replied. “The shadows are all wrong and I can’t seem to capture the way the ice looks like it’s moving while it’s still.”

“Well, I’m an idiot, but it looks amazing to me,” James replied. “Kitchen?”

“You’re not an idiot, James,” Steve said softly, his voice forcing James to make eye contact with him. “Through that door. I put the kettle on when I saw you crossing the street.”

“You don’t drink tea,” James replied.

Steve shrugged. “You do.”

James stopped in his tracks. “You have a kettle in your apartment on the off chance I’d come over to drink tea?”

“I have a kettle in my apartment in the hopes that you’d come over and drink tea,” Steve corrected with a grin that James felt all the way into his bones. “Anyway, you’re a free man for a few days, whuddya want to do?”

“I still have to work,” James corrected. “I just don’t have to go home.”

“That’s still not small,” Steve said carefully. “When do you have to head to the inn?”

“Few hours,” James replied. “Can I watch you paint? Is that weird?”

“Only weird in that it’ll feel like we’re fifteen again,” Steve smiled. “Go get your tea. The couch is pretty comfy.”

For the next several hours, Steve painted, James sat, and the two men talked. They flirted, just a bit, just enough to break Steve’s heart and force James to catch his breath a few times, but mostly they talked about their mothers.

“She woulda hated Brock,” James replied.

“Both of them would have, pal,” Steve turned and gesticulated with his brush.

James shrugged. “I don’t know how much either of them would like me very much right now.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Steve put down his brush entirely and stood facing James with his hands on his hips.

“It means… I don’t know. I came back different and not just the arm. It’s not as easy for me to be around people or anything, and, I dunno. I just feel different.”

Steve peered at the other man. “Of course you’re different. I’m different. We left Brooklyn and that changes things. Your mother would still adore you and my mother would still, too, and they’d both probably be still planning our wedding.”

James laughed out loud. “Do you remember that?”

Steve grinned. “God, they were _so_ drunk.”

“We were, what, fourteen? Fifteen?”

“Ma was sick, but not too sick to drink, so… fourteen, I guess. Do you think they ever realized we heard them?”

“Well, Ma mentioned flying doves to me whenever she thought you and I were fucking around, so I think so, yeah,” James smiled as Steve howled.

A comfortable silence fell over the two and Steve turned back around and started to mix some colors together.

“I did it because I was afraid you’d stay,” James whispered and Steve nearly dropped his brush.

“You were afraid…” Steve slowly turned around to find James looking everywhere but him.

“You were talking about turning down the scholarship, staying in Brooklyn, and God, Stevie, I couldn’t risk that. You were always meant for this, for having your art hang in the White House, so I couldn’t let you stay.”

“That was my decision,” Steve ground out softly, not really sure what he was hearing.

“I couldn’t risk you’d make the wrong one. I was going nowhere, really, and it woulda killed me to watch you stay, so I went to Rizzo’s one night and bought a guy enough drinks to force him into the booth with me. I don’t even know if his name was Frank.”

Steve took several deep breaths and did not look away from James. “You broke me in half, James,” he finally whispered. “I showed up to Paris in pieces and Pepper put me back together.”

“I’m so sorry,” James whispered back. “I just loved you too much to keep you trapped.”

The pair let the silence hang in the apartment for a few minutes, both lost in the reverie of their teenage selves and what might have been.

“Do you regret it?” Steve whispered, not moving from his spot.

“Every day,” James’ breath caught on the tears. “Every single day.”

Before Steve could stop himself, he was on the couch next to James and pulling the other man into a kiss. James hesitated for a second, a _fraction_ of a second even, before opening his mouth to Steve’s insistent tongue and Steve didn’t remember feeling this happy since the last time they’d done this.

Their hands explored territories that were familiar, yet strange, as Steve quickly leaned James back on the couch and began to straddle him. It wasn’t until he nearly heard _Bucky_ come out of his mouth that Steve returned to his senses and leapt off the other man.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Steve rambled. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” James said, running his hands though his hair and then touching his lips, as though trying to account for the absence of Steve’s. “Me too.”

Silence fell over them again and Steve needed to move, needed to leave the room. “I know it’s freezing, but walk?”

James smiled sadly. “Yes, let’s get out of here.”

_____________________________

They didn’t talk about The Kiss. Neither of them could bring themselves to. What they talked about was everything else.

“So we good now?”

Steve nodded. “I mean, we were babies, really, in terms of all of this, and if you hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be where I am, maybe, and so I don’t have the energy to be mad at you for doing something you thought was loving, so yeah, we’re good.”

Without the constant threat of Brock looming over them, they were free to relive old memories and make some new ones. Like, when Steve found out that James hadn’t seen _Pollack_ and demanded they watch it, or when James found out that Steve had never actually cooked a steak before. They were careful to stay out of the watchful eye of some of the townsfolk who thought Brock hung the moon, but James also knew, in the back of his mind, that he and Brock were going to come to blows pretty soon.

On the last night before Brock was to return home, the day after the huge wedding that had taken nearly everything out of James and had made Steve so proud of him that he nearly burst, Steve offered to help James clean and get everything ready.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing any of this,” James muttered to Steve as Steve washed the dishes in the way James taught him to so that Brock wouldn’t wig out. James was on the couch, folding laundry.

Steve shrugged. “You matter to me, James, you always have, and you always will.”

The simplicity of the statement took James’ breath away. It wasn’t like Steve hadn’t been saying that for months now in all his actions, it wasn’t like that statement was surprising. But, said so plainly like that? The simple of idea of mattering to someone, that he mattered to Steve, even after all the things that had happened, all the life that had been lived…

He, James Buchannan Barnes, _mattered_.

In the ensuing years, when he would tell his story, it was this moment where his soul cracked open enough to accept the hope that Steve had been offering.

“Can you,” James’ voice scraped over his tears, causing Steve to pause what he was doing and walk over to sit next to James on the couch, putting all of the laundry carefully on the floor. “Can you call me by my name?”

Steve took a breath and reached over for the other man’s hand. “Bucky?”

The damn broke. Bucky began to weep, great heaving sobs that shook his whole body, and caused him to curl into himself on the couch. Finding Steve’s arms around him, Bucky had no idea how long they sat there in Bucky’s living room, as Steve murmured loving words over the heaving frame of his one true love.

“Bucky, I love you, I love you so much,” Steve said for the hundredth time as Bucky finally caught his breath.

“God, I didn’t know much I needed to hear you say that,” Bucky breathed. Steve smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

“What now, Buck?”

Bucky took a deep breath and looked around at the life he had built for himself, realizing he recognized so little of it. He did a few quick calculations and made his decision.

“Well, I think I need a place to stay. I hear Manhattan is nice this time of year.”

Steve’s entire face broke into a grin that felt so familiar, Bucky’s heart stopped for a beat. “It’s actually really gross, but you’ve survived worse.”

“Christ, haven’t I,” Bucky laughed. He was quiet for a minute before he continued. “This is going to be ugly, like really ugly, me moving out.”

Steve shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I have nearly no money,” Bucky continued.

“I have more than I know what to do with.”

“He’s going to take it out on the girls,” Bucky replied, which gave Steve a pause.

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

Steve smiled. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Steve said.

“That simple?”

Steve chuckled. “One of the many things I’ve learned while we’ve been apart is that a whole lot of things are simple, but they’re not easy. Also, I know you haven’t gotten to know Tony that well, but he probably already has a plan for making sure Brock never hurts anyone ever again, so we’ll check in with him.”

“He’s a planner?”

“He prefers ‘futurist’,” Steve rolled his eyes as he did the air quotes. “But yeah, he’s a planner.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “It’s not like I haven’t thought of it before, you know, leaving him. I tried a few times a coupla years back, but he always found out, and he knows everyone near here and I couldn’t sort how I’d get far enough away quick enough, plus, who is going to believe that a dude gets beat up? All the shelters are for women. Audrey’s parents live down in Bucks, so I thought about that, but I couldn’t get there without him maybe going after Audrey, and I just couldn’t risk it.”

“I get that,” Steve said easily. “Thing is, you can now, because I’m here, and you got all of the power of SI behind you, and I happen to know any of those women would kill Brock if you gave them the permission.”

Bucky chuckled. “I swear Maggie was an assassin in a past life.”

“She and Nat would get along well,” Steve mused.

“Okay, so my plan is to just pack a bag of everything I give a shit about and leave with you right now and then send him a letter to break up with him but that feels cowardly.”

“Why?”

“Because I should do it to his face.”

“Why?”

“Are you being an ass right now or genuinely curious?”

“Why can’t I be both?” Steve smirked and Bucky playfully punched him. “Do you think you could talk to him right now and still leave?”

Bucky paused. “I’m not sure.”

“Do you want to leave today?”

“Yes, before I lose my nerve,” Bucky said quickly. “While you still feel real,” he continued with a whisper, wrapping his fingers through Steve’s.

Steve nodded, pressed another soft kiss to Bucky’s forehead, and dug out his StarkPhone. “Then let me call Tony and see what can happen quickly. How long do we have?”

Bucky checked the wall clock. “Five hours.”

“Oh, that is an age,” Steve grinned. “Start packing, Buckaroo, I’ll take care of the rest.”

_____________________________

In the end, Bucky broke up with Brock in a carefully worded letter that Pepper helped him compose but promised an in-person meeting at a later date. Brock, as they knew he would, violated Bucky’s request to be left alone for a few days to think and showed up at SI’s headquarters the very next day, loudly demanding to see his boyfriend.

“Do you want to go down there?” Steve asked as Bucky looked nervously at the floor. They were up in the penthouses at the top of the Tower where, Bucky was slightly overwhelmed to learn, Steve lived one floor under Pepper and Tony. 

“James-“ Tony began.

“Bucky,” Bucky corrected, reminding the older man.

“Bucky,” Tony corrected with a smile. “This is all still real fresh, but if you want to go down and have an epic break-up, we have some private conference rooms available that also have surveillance. My security would be in there so fast if he laid a hand on you. You can also just let him go right now, because I can promise you he’ll be back.”

“You think?”

Tony nodded solemnly. “He will. Especially once he finds out that I bought Pie & Lattes out from under him.”

“You did what?” Bucky coughed out.

“Bought it,” Tony replied. “That way he can’t threaten anyone’s jobs and you retain trademarks to all of your pies, so you can make them again anywhere you want. We can franchise it, even. Anyway, he can’t hurt your staff.”

“Maggie is also already being real honest about some of the stuff she saw,” Pepper added. “I don’t think Brock will win re-election once it’s out that he’s why they can’t get your pies anymore.”

Bucky started laughing and seemingly couldn’t stop for several minutes. He looked around at the faces of these three people who decided to become his family and shook his head. Who was he to deserve this?

As though Steve could read his mind, he grabbed Bucky’s wrist. “Hey, you are worth this.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, trying to downplay it. “Yeah, you gonna tell me next it’s not my fault, Robin Williams?”

“If I hafta,” Steve grinned and the men held gazes for a minute.

“Right, let’s get this over with,” Bucky replied, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes.

“Right, Pep, you escort him down,” Tony said, “and Steve and I will watch. You need anything, just say the word ‘Jarvis’ and security will be in the room.”

“Jarvis?”

“I’ll explain later, just go,” Tony shooed Pepper and Bucky into the elevator and turned to Steve. “I figured escaping Asshat was enough of a mindfuck without adding that I made a computer that’s basically alive.”

“Wise of you, Sir,” Jarvis said, drolly. “I shall monitor Chef Barnes and ensure his safety, Steven.”

“Thanks, J,” Steve smiled. “He used to be a massive scifi nerd, so you may actually make him feel more at home.”

“One can hope,” Jarvis replied.

____________________________

_He looks so small._

That was Bucky’s first thought as he saw his boyfriend of ten years pacing in the SI conference room. The man he always thought of as larger than life was, in fact, human sized. 24 hours out of Ballygowan and his perspective was already shifting.

“Heya Brock,” Bucky said softly and the other man whipped around.

“Oh, baby,” Brock rushed to him. “Jamie, what is this letter? What lies did that man convince you of? Are they hurting you? Let’s go home.”

Bucky shrugged off Brock’s touch. “My name, for the four _thousandth_ time is James.”

Brock blinked a few times, clearly noticing something in Bucky’s voice that he didn’t like. His eyes narrowed. “It’s that Rogers clown, isn’t it.”

“I’d tread carefully, Brock. Scream at me all you want, but don’t drag Steve into this.”

“I’m tired of this already, let’s go home,” Brock reached again for Bucky, who again leaned out of his grasp.

“Brock, I meant every word of that letter. I don’t live in the village anymore, we are not together anymore, and I _am_ home. I am home with people who understand that love doesn’t manipulate people, nor does it break jaw bones. I’m through with your explanations, I’m tired of wearing makeup to cover shit up, I’m done with being your punching bag when things don’t go your way or heaven forbid I interact with another human being. I’m done, Brock, and I meant that letter. So, please, go,” Bucky pointed to the door with a firmness in his voice he didn’t feel.

Brock snarled, “You can’t do that. You have no money, you have no skills, you have no one and you are nothing. I made you and I’ll destroy you.”

Until those words had come out of Brock’s mouth, there had still been part of Bucky that felt guilty for leaving, that felt he owed Brock something. With that sentence, that feeling disintegrated. Brock Rumlow was dead to him.

“I have my recipes, I have my dignity – no thanks to you, and I have Steve. Turns out I also have Tony and Pepper Stark and they seem to hate you, so that makes me feel pretty good. I have Maggie, and Audrey, and Stephanie, and maybe Susan, who have seen who you are, and even if didn’t have any of those things, I still don’t want you. Goodbye, Brock. Please stop hitting people,” Bucky finished and strode towards the door. Brock reached out and latched a hand around Bucky’s bionic arm, knowing just the right place to grab to disable it.

“Jarvis,” Bucky called, his voice slightly strangled with fear that this wouldn’t work.

“Presently, Chef Barnes,” a disembodied voice replied and the door burst open. Before Bucky could blink, Brock was hauled off of him and face planted into the table. The two officers were reading him what sounded like Miranda rights and Pepper stood quietly by his side.

“You finished?” she asked quietly.

“What are they doing?” he asked.

“They’re arresting him for assaulting a Stark family member on Stark property.”

“I’m not-“

“We really like adopting people, Bucky,” Pepper smiled. “Now, I’m starving and Tony made his mother’s gravy, which is the only thing I’ll let him cook, so how does pasta with red sauce sound?”

“Can I whip up some garlic bread quickly?” Bucky replied as they walked towards the elevator.

“I think Tony might propose marriage, but yes, yes you can,” Pepper smiled and Bucky laughed.

As the elevator door dinged open on Steve’s relieved and joyful face, Bucky’s soul let out the last breath of fear it had contained.

_Home_ , he whispered to himself. _I’m home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information on intimate partner and/or domestic violence, please visit [The National Domestic Violence Hotline](https://www.thehotline.org/). While the phone number and some resources are U.S.-based, it's a wealth of knowledge and can also help you find help in your country.


	8. Chapter 8

**Five Years Later**

“STEVEN,” Bucky yelled from the office, careful to cover Isabelle’s ears before he did so. “Have you heard back from Peter?!”

“NO,” his husband bellowed back from his lofted studio. Bucky sighed deeply and kissed the top of his daughter’s head, taking a minute to breathe in her delightful baby scent. She babbled sweetly, her arms flailing around from the Mobi carrier Bucky had strapped to his chest. Six months, she was absolutely the calmest of their three children. Which, considering that they were opening their second café location a borough away, was probably a good thing.

The year after Bucky had left Brock had been… rocky. Bucky had entered therapy, and then eventually he and Steve had started couples’ therapy, and everyone had agreed it was best for Bucky to live on his own for a while.

In the meantime, he kept baking.

Tony talked him into starting an Instagram account that maybe, someday, could turn into a pop-up pie shop, that maybe, if everything kept being perfect, could turn into a brick-and-mortar pie shop.

_“Why is this stressing you out so much? Pie & Lattes had an Instagram,” Steve was bewildered._

_Bucky snorted. “I never touched that thing. Social media was Maggie’s job.”_

_Steve paused. “Well, solopreneur, it is now your job. It’s not hard, there’s even schedulers out there for it. We just have to figure out what to call the account.”_

_“Oh,” Bucky smiled, “that’s easy. I talked about it with Andrew last week.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah, the session was all about the last time I felt safe, and why I feel safe with you, and I started telling him all these stories about sitting on Ma’s front porch and peeling peaches or whatever the hell she had us doing that day.”_

_“Winnie’s front porch was the center of the universe,” Steve confirmed._

_“So, I’m going to call it Front Porch Pies.”_

_Steve smiled. “They’d love that.”_

Front Porch Pies quickly became a staple of the Brooklyn food scene and baking out of his apartment stopped being viable about six months in. So, he took a business plan to Pepper and asked if she and Tony would consider investing in a property that came with an industrial kitchen. Not surprisingly, the Starks topped his offer and built a custom space.

_“It’s called Front Porch Pies,” Tony said to Bucky as the two men looked at the architect’s latest sketches. “It has to have a front porch.”_

_Bucky fished in his phone for some shots Steve had texted him of his old house. “Then I want it to look like this.”_

_“Done.”_

Within about eight months of opening, Front Porch Pies became the place in Flatbush to go on dates and they had to start considering a reservation line for the two massive front porch swings that Tony had commissioned. When the building next door came up for sale, Steve and Bucky talked about combining some of their resources – turns out being a really famous painter was quite lucrative – and setting up shop together.

_“I don’t want to be an investor,” Steve shook his head. “I want…”_

_Bucky sighed. “If you don’t want to be an investor, then what do you want to be?”_

_“Your husband,” Steve replied calmly._

_Bucky blinked. In the two years since he left Brock, he’d remembered so much of who he was, and had absolutely delighted in creating this new life for himself. Steve and he had been so careful to make sure that Bucky learned how to himself without Steve that now Bucky was ready to be who he was with Steve._

_“Works,” Bucky responded simply and Steve blinked a few times._

_“Yeah?”_

_“I mean, if you think that was a proposal, you have another thing coming, punk, but yeah.”_

So Front Porch Pies expanded. Bucky hired more staff, started teaching some basic cooking classes, and – as soon as Steve got around to proposing – planned a wedding that woulda made their mothers proud.

About three months after they had gotten married, Bucky’s weekend manager came to him in tears. It seems a one-night-stand had gone terribly wrong and she had just gone to the doctor to confirm she was pregnant. She knew she couldn’t raise the baby, but also could not bring herself to terminate the pregnancy. Did he know of any couples his age who were looking to adopt?

And that’s how Steve and Bucky became the proud parents of identical twin boys that they named Harper and Mason. Isabelle came into their lives two years later, when they decided to use a surrogate and Bucky’s old friend Maggie had been more than willing to help.

The current project that was keeping Bucky up at night, however, had nothing to do with parenting or marriage. It was that he and Steve had decided to expand Front Porch Pies to Queens. The demographics worked, the comps were friendly, and research told them that it made sense. They’d found a local guy to serve as the operations manager, one Peter Parker, for the day to day stuff. Bucky was in the middle of training a new pastry chef for over there – Steve’s old friend Natasha, who had decided to make a career shift – as well as one for the Brooklyn location because he was really ready to be able to hit pause.

Bucky sighed deeply as his daughter shifted slightly in her sleep. He let his eyes wander around his desk, where they finally fell on a sketch that had been part of his life since, basically, the first day he’d started dreaming to Steve about opening his own pie shop, back when he’d still been in Ballygowan and barely knew what dreams tasted like anymore, much less how to make one happen. 

_“What’s this?”_

_Bucky had gone out into the open space to give Morgan some re-heated sweet potatoes and Steve handed him a piece of paper._

_“The texts last night, you could make that happen, you know. Wanted to give you some visual inspiration.”_

_“Because I’m a suburban mom with a vision board now?”_

_“No, because you deserve for all of your dreams to come true and I’ll never stop saying that.”_

_Bucky blinked at him and unfolded the paper. It was him, in a pretty traditional diner-esque uniform, with his favorite apron tied around his waist and a name tag. The thing that shook him, however, was the look Steve had put on his face._

_He looked proud._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183258956@N03/48491350237/in/dateposted-public/)

He’d had it framed as soon as he got his own place and it had been in a place of pride ever since. Steve had cried the first time he’d seen it - you really kept that thing? - which had made the whole thing even more wonderful.

Steve ambled into Bucky’s office a few minutes later, smelling of turpentine and tempera paint with a faint undertone of the Ivory soap he’d been using since he was a boy. There were few smells in the world that Bucky enjoyed better.

“Do you want me to head over?” Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s lips, lingering for a second and wishing he could for longer. “The thing has to dry for a bit.”

“That would be great, actually,” Bucky admitted. “I’ll wait here for the boys to get back from Tony and Pepper’s. Call me as soon as you confirm they delivered.”

Steve smirked. “They’re pie tins, Buck, not plutonium. If they’re screwed up, we’ll send them back.”

“They are custom branded pie tins that I spent months perfecting and if this is you being supportive, then I’m ordering a new husband.”

Steve laughed softly. “Love you too, Buck,” he kissed his daughter and his husband and strolled out of the room.

Bucky sighed and smiled. Stretching and cracking his knuckles, he started feeling the itch to create. “Well, Miss Izzy, whuddya say? I think your Uncle Tony found some blueberries when he was down at Fort Dix yesterday. Blueberry pie? With a chocolate drizzled crust?”

Izzy babbled softly as he headed to the kitchen and pulled out the sugar, butter, and flour and got to work. When it was all finished, he snapped a photo and opened Instagram.

_Dreams Do Come True Chocolate Blueberry Pie. Fresh New Jersey blueberries thanks to Emery’s Farm, combined with semi-sweet and milk chocolate for a depth of flavor. I added lemon zest to the crust for freshness. Can be eaten with whipped cream, ice cream, or no cream! Best enjoyed surrounded by those you love. Limited availability at our Front Porch after dinner._

Bucky stuck the pie into a carrier to take over to the shop later and heard the sound of Tony’s car pull into the driveway. Soon the sound of scampering feet and the shouts of his sons tumbled through, with Morgan exasperatedly trying to control them.

“Uncle Bucky,” said the 8-year-old. “I tried.”

Bucky bit back a grin as the boys shot off into their playroom. Morgan was a long-suffering pseudo-sibling when it came to the twins. “I know, kiddo. I know. Where’s your dad?”

“In the car still, Mom called from Tokyo. He’ll be in in a minute. May I have a glass of milk?”

“Of course. Thank you for asking so well,” Bucky kissed the top of her head and she beamed at the praise.

Bucky’s phone buzzed.

_Steve: All tins accounted for. Peter lost his phone again, so I’m dealing with that now. I don’t know what this dude does every night that he can’t keep track of his shit, but MJ promised she’d work on it._

_Bucky: She is terrifying in all the best ways._

_Steve: Between her and Nat, I’d say they’ll keep the kid in line. I want to give him a chance, he’s so earnest._

_Bucky: I still have my doubts, but if you want him, then we’ll keep him._

_Bucky: Fucking believing in every body’s potential, such a pain in my ass._

_Steve: Love you too, Buck._

“Buckaroo, your boys are alive, only slightly scathed, and I now require pie as payment.”

Bucky smiled and signaled to Tony to follow him into the kitchen. “I made the pecan one you like last night. When’s Pep back?”

“Sunday,” Tony said, digging himself a fork out of the drawer and plopping the pie on the table in front of Morgan. “She helped a lot.”

“I imagine she did all the work,” Bucky replied.

“I did,” Morgan replied sagely as she sipped her milk and waited for Tony to cut her a slice of pie.

The two men stifled giggles and a moment of silence.

“Five years next week,” Tony said softly.

Bucky blinked at him. “You remembered?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Genius. You keep forgetting. I don’t forget.”

Bucky smirked. “You forget Pep’s birthday every year.”

“Pepper and I have different definitions of ‘remembering’,” Tony retorted. “Five years, though, right?”

Bucky nodded.

“I’m proud to know you, James,” Tony said softly. “Thanks for fighting for this life. I really like being a part of it.”

Tears unexpectedly sprung to Bucky’s eyes. “Thanks, Tones,” Bucky replied, his voice a whisper. “I… I’m thankful to matter.”

Tony reached over to the younger man, pulling him close for a quick forehead kiss. “You do, Buckaroo. You always will.”

“Uncle Bucky,” Morgan said, “what’s that?”

“That is a new pie. I was going to take it over to the shop. Do you want to come?”

“Sure, no problem, I’ll stay here with the Wonder Twins,” Tony said sarcastically. “No need to ask.”

Bucky heard a crash from the other room. “They’re playing with the workshop set you gave them, so I’m going to go deliver pie with my two best girls, and you are going to fix my sons.”

Tony rolled his eyes good naturedly, but headed off to supervise without complaint. Bucky gathered the pie, made sure Isabelle was totally secure in the Mobi, and escorted Morgan out the door and down the block.

Dreams do come true indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for loving this wee fic and a HUGE thanks to [softestbuck](http://www.twitter.com/softestbuck) for her INCREDIBLE art so we could all see how Steve sees Bucky. 
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/betheflame1) and [Tumblr](http://betheflame.tumblr.com) for previews, snipsnops, sass, and a probably some thirsting. 
> 
> If you or someone you love is in a relationship where love is defined through control, please know there are other options. You, just like our Bucky, matter. You matter so much.


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